#they had to move it from Near Me because anOTHER FUCKING CAR DEALER bought the fieldhouse and now theres no more events there

[paranoidgemsbok]

tending to my podbins and imagining the cute table display i would have at a reptile expo :)

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Mount Everest Ain't Got Shit On Us (Fezco x fem! reader, Part 11.)

Description: You were always told that your life will be as you wish it to be if you’ll study enough. That it will pay off if you work hard. And some people were given you like a scary example of what will happen when you don’t obey. But sometimes it feels good to disobey.

A/N: Inspired by the nicer, happier Euphoria soundtrack (Florida by AQ, Eyes Closed by Curren$y and All That by Drama Relax). I wrote this fckn part for three days, hope it is worth it at least.

Warnings: Don't be silly, wrap your Willy; whether you're doing illegal stuff or completely legal shit. JUST IF YOU DO ALL THAT, BE CAREFUL, OK?

Word Count: 4.7 K

Read the rest here, babe:  PART 1  PART 2  PART 3  PART 4  PART 5  PART 6  PART 7  PART 8  PART 9  PART 10

Masterlist and declaration: H E R E

Tagging: @charmed-asylum, @jeyramarie, @pantherxrogers

Before the downfall, there's a ride upon a rollercoaster. Everything is just fine, you feel happy and you have your inner peace to keep.

You feel like you're on the top of the whole world, you’re beyond everything that could ever hurt you. Friends have your side no matter what, you have some fam to live for. At those moments, you never realize that it can all fuck up in an instance. When you look forward in front of yourself, into your future, there's nothing that can go wrong.

You felt it with him, with Fezco. Every kiss felt like a heaven's touch, his clothes were the most comfortable ever and when you snuggled in the evening, you felt nothing like safety in your chest. Maybe Fez wasn't the smartest or the most talkative boy in the hood, but he sure was the kindest one, looking our for you and your safety along with Jules and Rue. Sometimes he took you out of school, sometimes you saw each other in the evening.

You lived for every small moment you could spend with him. So, when after three other months since the fight in front of your school, there was one evening you could sneak out of the house, you immediately took it to your chance and just left to stay at his place even if it was only for one night. You were knocking on the door when the sundown came and you had that smile on your face.

Ashtray had voluntarily left the place when he heard that you should come over, so there was only Fez, you and his nana. But you were calm about her being present because she was out of the world and Fez was taking care of her. As time passed, he let you visit her. You always talked to her in a nice, smooth tone, about the things that occurred in your daily life.

And your parents liked Fezco as well. He was invited to a lot of family hangouts, your mom loved to spend his time with him because he was acting so nice around you. They even framed you a picture of you and him from one of your hikes, when you were hanging on his shoulders with your legs around his waist. He loved to call you a monkey. 

But that was long forgotten when you were standing in front of his flat, knocking on the door, being all nervous about the evening all of a sudden.

"Wazzup', babe?" - The door opened and his tired face looked from behind it. You were proud that you could make him smile only the way you could. No one was able to make him smile except Rue when you were not near.

"Hi, darling." - You whispered and tiptoed to kiss him gently with your eyes closed. - "I have bought those sweets you like so much."

"Yo da best and no-one can tell otherwise." - He hugged you and helped you with your bag. - "Imma help my na, so can you do the coffee? Don't cook, we can order somethin’." - Fez said and disappeared into the back of his place. You made him the coffee as he loved, making some sweet one for yourself and you just laid down on his big plushy sofa, chilling. You were scrolling through your Instagram, adding a picture to your story.

Fez was smiling wildly there, holding a cone with ice-cream, with his hoodie on his head, but you could see how your hand holds yours in that picture. This picture was one of the sweetest you ever took of him. He looked exactly his age there, not tired, his eyes weren't flat at all. He wasn't a dealer. He wasn't someone who dropped out of high school. He was just happy. You could see that he looks really in love at that one.

A girl who was your closest friend back in the town you were living in texted you almost immediately: You two are such a couple goals. 💙

You couldn't say otherwise. The second one who reacted was Rue, of course, as always: Yaaas, slayy queen. She was fangirling over you two a serious lot since you got back together. And you were as well.

"What ya up to? Ya lookin' all happy." - Two hands hugged both of your shoulders in a tight-ish grip. Fez's palms were warm as always. You leaned into his touch.

"I'm here and with you. What should I tell you? That just makes me happy." - You said with a shining smile, leaning the back of your head into his belly, looking him into the face. Everybody could tell you that you were on fucking cloud nine when you were with Fezco. At school, you smiled sometimes, drifting off to the distance a lot, but you felt sad in some way. But it always disappeared when you saw him in front of the school in his car, waiting for you.

"Ya really not too hard to satisfy." - He kissed your forehead for a long time, his eyes closed and when he stood up again, he was smiling. You could tell he had a joint or two. But you were not making a deal out of it. Fez and weed just got along. - "So tell me what ya want, baby girl. Will be orderin' the food for ya."

"Just cheese pizza or some Thai, nothing too expansive. I can have some cereal when I'll be hungry." - You leaned into the sofa, taking another sip of the coffee.

Fezco couldn't take his eyes off you. You had messy hair falling free from your bun and your bit tired eyes, but your smile indicated that you feel safe and safe with him.

"Ya want to lay down for a bit? Will wake ya up when the courier arrives." - Fez asked when he was dialing some restaurant. You leaned into the back of the sofa and leaned your chin into your hands.

"Yep. I think I'm gonna take a big, long nap." - You nodded and raised your chin to his direction. He leaned down to kiss you slowly, but firmly, taking a hold of his palm on your hair. Just holding a fistful of it before actually noticing the phone operator on the other end of the call. He lends you a blanket, making sure that you're warm before dealing with the man or woman on the other side.

You fell asleep for an hour and a half, Fezco massaging your feet and watching the TV while smoking the joint he made for himself. His touch light and gentle and it lullabied you to sleep. You were done for. A gentle kiss into the crook of your neck has woken you up. And a smell of freshly made coffee and some dinner, but you got up because of two big hands around your waist and a body of a gentle bear being pressed on yours. He was pretty heavy sometimes.

Your lips curled into a lazy, happy smile as you hugged the back of his neck with your hand, playing with his short hair. He was like a puppy, kissing your neck gently, playing with curves of your body. He could feel that you're happy and well-rested at the moment.

"I'm up, baby boy. I will get up soon, I swear." - You giggled when you felt the curious tips of his fingers crawling under your t-shirt. Technically, it was his, but you didn't seem to even think about giving it back. It was like he wasn't listening, he was just kissing you more and more intensely, getting into your personal zone. It felt serious all of a sudden, your heart raced and your back started to arch to his chest.

This didn't feel like your normal cuddly session. From a moment to moment, you felt as your body burnt. You... Wanted him. That happened a few times before, but it has never lead anywhere. But that time was different.

He made sure that he found his way to get the blanket off your body, letting you there with your head tilted back and your mouth opened and breathing heavily. Fez was thankful to you for having only your shorts on.

You may have kissed some boys, touch a very few dicks, but no boy ever touched you... Only one of them dared to. It was never with such determination and warmth. 

But this one was different. You feel that Fez is into that a big time. Maybe being high helped him to read you way better. He was defined sure when his nose was raising the shirt up and licked a small way from your belly to your bra.

The dinner was long forgotten as you felt the warmth of his body, the passion of his hands and the love coming from his moves. The t-shirt left your body and you saw as he slowly leaned down to rest his chin on your breasts pushed up with the tight, innocently white bra.

Nothing could happen that night, bud even tho you took a long bath, completely shaved your legs and the rest, taking a duo of undies on. You wished for something to happen, but it was even more than it was in your mind. A palm traveled under your butt, slowly slipping in under your shorts and panties, finding your entrance slowly. You told him nobody ever took you as a woman, of course, you were honest with him.

His fingers only smoothed you a bit, but you moaned out loud. Fezco was unbelievable because you haven't got any idea of how he could reach that part of your body so confidently and gently - that wasn't even possible. He must've broken his hand. He was basically just smoothing over the outer lips, but it felt like he was showing you the space for you.

You hugged his shoulders tightly, opening your mouth and moaned out loud. It was funny for him because as you trembled and wanted him to reach higher, you traveled under him like a boat on the sea. You panted when the hand disappeared from under your pants and you looked at him with a disappointed face. Your gaze met him in the middle and so you asked him why.

"This ain't nothin', baby girl. Gonna show ya more today." - He said with a small smile and slowly took off your fuckingly tight bra. It was some time since he saw your boobs for the last time, in the swimming pool. They were really a masterpiece in his eyes, he was really amused, almost childishly fascinated, by the way how they bounced and how the nipples reacted to his thumb or his tongue so fast. And you were about to go crazy.

You saw porn, how the man could blow your back out, fuck you senselessly, slowly, with desire and passion, but this was so... Real. This was like nothing you've ever seen or feel. His tongue felt wet, hot and firm at the same time, your cheeks were rosy and you feel as you slowly began to sweat. Your heartbeat was off the charts.

"Oh my lord." - You whispered quietly as you felt his hot mouth on your boobs but a cold breeze hugged your crotch when your pants and panties slowly disappeared from your body. He was so smooth that he occupied your mind first and then he did what he planned all along. He was a good player. And you wanted to be played with.

So meanwhile his fingers worked wonders on your boobs, his face suddenly disappeared between your legs. At that moment your eyes opened widely and your mouth made an erotic noise. In a contraction you hugged his jaws with your inner thighs tightly, your body was looking like a bow and your face was just like a painting. You looked so beautiful and lovely when he was eating you our, making slow and intense circles around your clit. And his beard?

That worked fucking wonder between your legs. It was teasing you, adding to the final effect. He swayed his tongue faster and faster and you did something you heard is called riding his face, moving your face in his rhythm.

Some warmth began to concentrate inside of you, directly next to the place where he was working on you. It was more and more intense as the time slowly passed, and when you were more and more tensed, your sounds became louder and higher, heavier because you tried to breathe between the sounds.

Your legs on his back trembled and your feet began to curl when you tried to hold that amazing feeling back. And when his finger caressed your outer lips, you just exploded all around his face. You curled into one big ball and tried to breathe it out, but he worked serious wonders on you. And he didn't stop when you yelled his name between the moans, mainly because of you held his face in your crotch.

It was like his mouth was praising you and just made for your little special place, as you called your pussy. He made you brutally cum without even entering you with a finger. You were completely done.

"That was..." - You whispered and your body just relaxed. You closed your eyes and smiled, being completely out of your mind. So that was a drug so-called orgasm and you were sure that Fez can give you many, many of that.

He watched you when he held your thigh when he was kissing it slowly and his eyes were shining. He was wet all over his mouth and beard. But both of you looked equally contented and happy. You slowly caressed his hair as he caressed you with his hand travel, from your knee up to your bum with delicate moves.

"That was fucking unbelievable." - You whispered and only after he was sure that you won't pass out because of the bliss your brain was occupied with, he climbed to look into your eyes and to kiss your lips, giving you a firm tight kiss, again tugging your hair. You hugged his fully clothed body with your, which was completely naked.

"Ya like a monkey." - Fez murmured with a giggle when he kissed a trail down to your earlobe, tugging it with his teeth.

"And you love it." - You murmured back and clothed yourself with a blanket, crawling back to his arms, leaning your forehead into his neck. You were held in his arms as you were slowly drifting off. So that was how it felt like. Physical love.

Yeah, you have had a hand between your legs, but no-one has ever made love to you. This just simply happened, both of you just wanted it, so you didn't stop and just went with the flow. And you felt like a true woman. Even when your virginity was left untouched.

"Why I have never felt this amazing? Where were you hiding that tongue, baby?" - You asked and slowly put your panties and a t-shirt on when Fez got up to fetch you some food. You curled into a ball, still feeling the sensation in the small bungle of nerves a lot, taking a mug from him. As always, he ordered your all-time favorite, hugging your shoulder with his arm as he leaned you into his body, continuing with watching the TV.

"So ya liked it?" - He asked with an amused tone and took a bite from your meal.

"I want you to eat me out all the fucking time." - You whispered with your lips near to his, then you gave him a quick peck on his lips.

"Alrite, just have a bath, eat a little and have some coffee. We can do it again how many times you would like to, we have the whole nite." - Fez told you with a tired smile and you nodded and put the tip of your nose onto his, before watching the TV again.

Fez was a man of his word and his bed was messy and wet from sweat soon, as his head disappeared between your legs more than two other times. When orgasm swayed your hips for the third time that evening, you felt like you're on the edge of Eden, just about to fall down. Your body was tired, hurting in the best kind of pain and you smiled without having a clue about it. He worked up wonders with you.

It was a strange feeling, having your slit wet from his saliva all over it, it felt too wet, too dripping and too gentle. It was unnatural but somehow natural more than anything else in the world. You also found out that your legs were amazingly flexible - Fezco could put your knees on the bed and it didn't hurt at all, which was a serious fucking surprise for you. The hormones made you flexible like a fucking gymnast.

"This is the best feeling in the whole world." - You whimpered as you took a long breath out, still feeling the slight sensation and vibrations between your legs as Fez cleaned the area around his mouth and plushy beard. But it was somehow strange, to smell yourself and taste yourself within his taste. He had a knowing smile on, feeling sure about making his girl feel good. But even though Fez temped himself with making you cum for the one last time.

You felt his fingers ghosting all over your body, and your eyes caught that it is around eleven p.m. But that didn't play a single role in what were you two doing at that moment.

All of a sudden you felt the sensation and slight pain when something has entered you. For you, it was like going through the first time for another round. Slowly, the first finger entered you; it was practically effortless because of how dripping and relaxed you. A moan came out of your body and your fingers circled around his wrist. Fez hovered above you, supporting his head with his palm and watched your face, showing him that you're in the state of bliss and nothing more.

"Hurts?" - He asked and tried to take his fingers out of you, but your palm stopped him. Instead, you were holding his palm in one place and started to slowly press yourself against his hand. You made it a few times before you let his hand go. That was so much sensation, that you hugged the sheets with your hands firmly - to move against something and to feel it move against you was pleasurable, no matter the pain when you started. Both of you knew about some spot inside of you, but you also knew that if you don't find it, you shouldn't make a big deal out of it.

His lips kissed you all over your neck and boobs as you found euphoria in which you wanted to get lost. You knew that it will end not so long from that moment, but if you could do it until the world end, you would. Only slowly you used one of your hands to get yourself off as he continued to finger you. 

“No. No. No. Stop it, baby.” - You whispered when you felt that everything was about to crumble down inside of your body. 

“Did I hurt you, babe?” - Fez asked quietly with fear in his tone and you caught his face to your palms. You hummed into his face when your hand slowly massaged his body with your fingers. He was all tensed up as you grabbed his junk firmly with your palm. 

“Come on, I want all of you. I mean all of you.” - The sound of your desire-filled voice resonated through his bedroom. Your small, gentle body tried to imprinted into his bigger one, your hand continued to hold his dick and you felt as it was getting harder and harder. 

“This ain't no good idea.” - Fez tried to oppose you, trying to get your hand away, but you were very persistent. You two continued with kissing you, his eyes closed and his fingers tried to make you occupied with something different. But before he was able to make you go away, you were straddling his lap. 

You were all naked, your hair was framing your face and your smile was the happiest one that Fez saw on you. Your smooth move made him sit up and you slowly helped him with undressing his sweater. You loved that boy no matter what - he maybe was not the athletic one around, his body had a lot of scars on it, but it was no matter for you. 

For the first time forever, you pressed your naked body onto his, feeling how warm he is. His skin was so smooth to you, it felt like a flame was consuming your whole body. Then you helped him with taking his pants down.

The kiss you had peppered your body with was as smooth as he were, or so you thought. You moved slowly, caressing every inch you could reach with the tips of your fingers, all you wanted was to be one person with him, you wished to just melt into his body, to feel his warmth and love. Slowly, you started to undress his jeans, kissing his pelvis, making small circles on that bone. 

You took everything out of his body, his boxers, his denim jeans, you were making him vulnerable. Fezco was unable to stop you at that moment. Fezco felt weak because of how good you were making him feel. 

And when you licked his shaft down for the first time, the weed made him do a big, happy smile. He loved to give good eating out sessions but even more, he loved to receive a blow job from someone. 

Even tho you were doing it for the first time, you were really good at it. Your mouth was taking a good portion of his dick down until the tip of his hock tickled the entrance to your throat. From the porn, you have watched through you knew that you should play with the second part of his junk to make it way more pleasurable for him. Your mouth was warm and wet so soft that it made him three times harder. 

After a while, you smiled at him, still smoothing his shaft slowly, kissing his upper thigh gently. His face was seriously looking happy, he was on cloud nine. Your nails drugged into his skin harshly. 

“Come here, lover boy.” - The tone of your voice was deep and full of lust. You were on your pills, so you were completely calm about everything. Or at least you hoped that everything will be fine in the end. The feeling of wanting got into you again - the first time, you wanted to be with him. Now, you wanted him to be inside of you.

When you two laid down and snuggled for a bit, you opened your eyes with sudden pain. He took you by surprise. Not that he did a full invasion into your pussy, but it... Somehow hurt when you felt how his dick stretched you.

Without waiting, you put your fingers on his neck, caressing within slow motions. You tried to be calm and of course, he had to feel it when he was almost three inches inside at that point. But you felt like a fucking velvet, hot and wet, being all tight around his dick.

Your lips felt his trying to kiss you, so your head naturally followed Fez as his tongue slipped on your lips, kissing you hungrily with his fingers tangled into your hair. You moaned into his mouth as the rest of him slipped inside, putting your fingers onto his breasts in a slight shock, your legs putting further so his whole ass could take a place between your legs.

As you heard from your friends, the first moves were the most unpleasing, hurting ones. When those were happening, you just firmly closed your eyes, hummed into his lips at high frequency with a wrinkle between your eyebrows.

Your body tried to capture that experience as a whole, the slapping sounds your skin made when his body collided with yours, how strangely warm and sweaty both your bodies were, how strangely soft his skin was yet how tight and firm his muscles were as he pounded into your body with rhythm. It was a sloppy one, a slow one full of desire. His ass was moving steadily and slowly, you started to relax, every muscle inside of you accepted the way he was moving inside of you. 

At that time, you felt that only moaning will not keep him in one place, so you started to talk shily. You parted your lips, taking his cheeks into your palms, making him look you in the eyes. 

“You're doing me so well, baby.” - A whimper came out of your lips between you tried to breathe normally. - “You can go harder. Just like that, just like that.” - You did not expect it to work, but it truly made him go faster and a bit rougher. That made you roll your eyes to the back of your head as your lips parted and another sound came out of your lips. 

“Y/N.” - Fez whispered and his back arched a bit, making him go even deeper and a bit harder. When all of your friends told you about their first time, they told you that it hurts like fuck. But you didn't seem to even notice, the more your legs went wider and wider, the more you felt how pleasurable it was and the wetter and flexible inside. 

You seriously didn't know how long it all have lasted, but somehow you felt how his pace became seriously sloppy. Fezco could feel his body burning, because of how good it all felt, he was on the top of the world. He would swear that he never had sex which was so good. No girl made him feel so good before you and your tight pussy. 

The sweaty drops were running all over his body, down his back to his chest, he lasted for a long, long time. It was more than fifteen minutes, which was a seriously good score. Nails were running down his back when your hard tilted backward with your eyes firmly closed. 

Fezco could feel how your fingers on your clit and his body was curling and tensing as you started to slowly orgasm. You left your second hand on the side of his face and just seconds before cumming all over his cock, your stares connected. And then, you screamed loudly as you began to shake a bit in a blissful state. You were mumbling his name again, again and again like a magical spell mixing it with oh my dear fucking lord.

He was done for in the next seconds. Fezco couldn't even breathe, he slowly collapsed onto your body as he kissed your neck down. Your body was all salty and wet from sweat. You just circled your hands around his back, gently kissing it on the top of his head, playing with his beard. His eyes were closed and he breathed loudly, but you could see a huge smile all over his face. 

“So what do you say?” - Your silent voice whispered. - “How was it like?”

“I have never so fuckin' good in my whole life.” - Fezco said back voicelessly. After that, you just covered yourself in blankets and he almost immediately fell asleep naked, hugging your body in a tight grip with his head on your naked boobs.

One last photo was added to your Instagram story that night. It showed Fezco laying all over your body like a huge, gentle bear, your naked upper thigh was peeking out of your intertwined bodies and your hand was holding his head on its place. 

And you felt safe and loved at that moment. 

[remiwarner]

DISCOLORATION

     The smile melted off his face the second Charlie closed the door behind him. Remi tried to make himself stop walking. To turn around. To go back inside and tell her that he could postpone, or force his importer to come to the city. But his body was truculent and buzzing like a fucking wasp’s nest – restless, hollow – and wouldn’t obey him. His feet carried him to the elevator, to the garage, to his car; his hands started the engine, turned the wheel, and soon he was speeding along the streets of Battery City, his mood darkening the further he got from home.      He wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop, the constant, nagging thoughts that chewed at the back of his mind, told him that he was no good and that there was no point to anything, and that all he was doing by fighting it was dragging his suffering out longer. That he might as well give up. The thoughts that drew him into himself and made it feel like the world around him was a firm pressure on his temples, that everything – but most of all him – was deeply and fundamentally wrong.      All he needed was to get rid of them, to get himself back to normal, so he could continue his life without feeling like existence in and of itself was nothing but a migraine, ever developing and growing in intensity until it became unbearable. All he needed to get rid of them was packed away underneath a panel in his dashboard.

     To his credit, Remi did have a meeting with an importer, and it was out of town, just… not very far. And there was no problem (at least not anymore – another half lie), just a new shipment. Wouldn’t take more than an evening.

     For a little over two hours, he zoned out to the monotonous landscape flying by him, the tension in his body only given away by the way his knuckles whitened around his grip on the steering wheel. The sun was setting to his right, painting the desert in orange and red – then it dipped below the horizon and it got dark fast, his headlights illuminating the way ahead.      Finally, he pulled in to a hiking trail parking lot, idling his car next to the only other one that stood there with its engine running. He got out, retrieving a bag from his trunk, and his importer did the same before coming to meet him between the two vehicles. The expression on Remi’s face must have spoken volumes, because the importer, usually one for small talk, went straight to business.      “This one’s a good one. Hear they got someone new in the lab.” He handed Remi the duffel he was holding, and Remi put his smaller bag momentarily on the roof of his car to free his hands before accepting it. He tugged the zipper open about halfway, inspecting the contents using what little light reached them from the two bright pools their headlights made on the ground.    “Yeah.” Remi zipped the bag back up and held it in one hand, grabbing the bag on the roof with the other and tossing it at the importer. “They do.”

   “So make sure they stay on schedule from now on. Wasted a lotta money while they were lookin’ for a replacement, ‘n I want double deliveries ‘till it’s made up. I don’t care what y’gotta do, ‘f they gotta stay in the lab twenty-four fuckin’ seven; just make it happen.”      The importer nodded, fidgeting with a zipper on the bag he’d been given, then waited until Remi got back in his car before doing the same.

     The drive back seemed longer than it had the other way, and he was tired, so fucking tired – of his headaches, of the knots in his back and shoulders, of the impatient shaking of his leg whenever he sat still for more than two minutes, of the unintelligible maelstrom of his conflicting thoughts. He gave up, pulling into the next motel he came across: an unmanned, anonymous place that had about as much charm as a piece of rock. Popping the cover off the panel on the dashboard, he retrieved the pills he’d stashed there and took two, then put everything back into place before he rolled up to the barrier gate and booked a room on the screen there. Once he’d paid, a swipe of one of his cards against the sensor, the gate rose, letting him through. Remi found a parking spot, retrieved his bag, his gaze lingering on the other bag for a split second before he closed the trunk, locked the car, and went to his room.      It was just as impersonal and charmless as the outside, but it was clean and tidy. He dropped his bag on a chair that stood in the corner, undressed and got into bed, only pausing for a moment to send Charlie a text (Love u x) before dropping his head onto the pillow and closing his eyes, letting the codeine do its work.

* * *

     When he awoke the next morning, the rising sun was poking its way through the tiny gaps in the blinds, glimmering at him as he shifted his head. Squinting, Remi checked the time on his phone. 6:33. That’s what you get for going to sleep at fucking nine. He rubbed at his eyes and got up, padding into the sterile bathroom to pee. Shower. Brush his teeth. It was a little past seven when he left the room, dropping his bag into the trunk – other bag, other bag, other bag – before getting back on the road. He had another hour to get back to Battery… and then he had a lot of meetings, because getting all his head dealers to show up somewhere at the same time was apparently an impossible task.

     First, he met Simone, near a small shop where he’d just bought a breakfast burrito, eating while he waited for her to show up, texting Charlie good morning now that it was a more reasonable hour. After Simone came Marco, Sebastian, Alex… the bricks in the bag in his trunk dwindling bit by bit. It was nearing five pm by the time he arrived at the corner shop down the street from Jerome’s apartment, last on the list; he idled the car by the curb, waiting. The bag was in the backseat, almost empty.      It didn’t take him long to appear, the car door opening and closing, the right side of the vehicle dipping a little as he got in.      “Hey,” he grinned, reaching behind him and pulling the bag into his lap. “Long day?”    “The fuckin’ longest.”      They talked a little about the… hiccup in production, about the replacement, about how they’d have to move the product fast to make up for lost time and resources, then Jerome gave Remi’s shoulder a slap and reached for the door handle, bringing the bag with him.    “Wait,” Remi interrupted, stopping him before he got the door open. “Leave me one. ‘M workin’ tonight.”      “Yeah?” With a slight furrow of his eyebrows, Jerome dragged the zipper open, took out a brick and laid it in the glovebox. “Y’need help?”    “Nah.” Remi shook his head.      “Alright, man. Have a good one.”    “You too.”

     And then he was alone again, and the day’s errands were done, and he had a brick of heroin in his glove compartment and a get-together to get to. He pulled away from the curb and headed towards Zone Seven, to a penthouse apartment somewhere between Summerlin and Wildemont, filled with some of Battery’s most unsavory. It was more of a base of operations than it was a home, people coming and going at all hours of the day – and even more so at night. It was mafia-owned, and tonight was a sort of… networking event. Very different from anything Charlie had ever made him attend: darker, ten times more debauched, but when it all came down to it, just as fake. Everyone’s goal was to get ahead, and nobody cared who they had to step on to do it.      Remi drove into the parking garage and shut off his engine, bringing the brick with him from the glovebox as he went around back to the trunk. He grabbed his jacket from there and slipped it on, then ripped the packaging open on the brick and started filling his pockets. There wasn’t enough room. Not without him going around looking like a bulging idiot, anyway. He dug around his car until he found another bag and put the rest in there, bringing it with him as he headed for the elevator. On the touch screen there, he pressed the button for the penthouse, and a light went on next to a camera above the display. When it didn’t recognize him as either the owner of the penthouse or any of the people on the approved visitor list, he heard a short, melodic chime, staring impatiently into the lens as he waited. Another moment passed, then a cheerful trill sounded, and the elevator started going up. Up he went, for floors and floors, not feeling how quickly the elevator was moving because the ride was so smooth. Softly, it came to a stop, then the speakers dinged and the doors opened onto the dim but luxurious penthouse, for the time being rather empty.

    A suit-clad man came to greet him – in his sixties, salt and pepper hair, clean shaven, beady eyes. He smiled, crow’s feet fanning out onto his temples.       “Remi Warner. The man himself. I’m so pleased you could attend.” He shook Remi’s hand firmly, clasping a hand onto his shoulder in some kind of phony, overbearing gesture that was supposed to come off as warm, and probably looked ridiculous due to the fact that Remi was at least a head taller than him. “Been a few years now, hasn’t it? Where all I’ve seen of you has been the fallout of your, uh… exploits. How are you?”    “‘M alright, Harry.” The man finally let go of Remi’s hand.       “Is that a wedding ring?” He asked, though Remi’s left hand was hanging at his side and he hadn’t so much as glanced at it.    “Yeah.”      “Congratulations. That bride of yours is beautiful, I hear. And a daughter, too? Adopted, must be.”    “Yeah.” Remi’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.      “Your father would be proud. Let’s have a toast to him. Come. Sit. Scotch okay?”    “Sure,” Coming further into the large apartment, Remi sat down on the sleek, spotless couch, avoiding a third yeah. Avoiding any ill-conceived jabs about his old man, no matter how many fought their way up his throat. The man currently in his company was old fashioned – there were only two things he valued more than family: money, and respect. Remi really didn’t think his father deserved any, but he was almost certain Harry Harlow would disagree.      When they were both seated, a boy – mid- to late teens, in a shirt and vest – wheeled a bar cart closer and started pouring whiskey into crystal glasses for them. Grandkid? Some cousin or other? Remi thought to himself, swallowing a smirk when the boy passed the first glass to the old man with a muttered here you go, uncle. He was given the second, sipping it as the old man went on about recent events in Battery’s underground and the lives of other mutual acquaintances.

     Slowly, people started trickling in. More well-dressed mobsters. Members of other syndicates. Arms dealers. People who dealt in alcohol, technology, information… Fences, smugglers, collectors of banned and censored things. Leering procurers with entourages of barely dressed women and men trailing lasciviously in their wake, lounging over the furniture and casting solicitous, sultry gazes beneath half-lidded eyes at anyone who looked their way. The penthouse filled with the sound of voices and music, ice clinking in glasses, with the warmth of bodies, with smoke. The heroin was flying from Remi’s pockets, replaced with bills and bills and bills and bills, fatter than the baggies they were exchanged for. He made trips down to his car in the garage, stashing it away in hidden places because – as pleasant as they all were being – there was not a single soul in that penthouse he trusted further than he could spit.

     The night dragged on. He’d had two glasses of whiskey, and was significantly less inebriated than everyone around him, and if he’d thought the codeine would be enough, he’d been wrong, because there was something better in his pocket, and it was calling his fucking name. He ignored it, chain-smoking as the last of his supply decreased, one baggie at a time.

     A whore slid into the seat next to him on a couch somewhere deeper inside the penthouse, getting close. It was quieter there, at the edges of the party. The sugary scent of her perfume overpowered everything.      “I hear you can hook me up?”    “’M out.” He glanced at her, and she watched him back, a slow smile spreading across her face.      “That’s a lie.” Her eyes narrowed a little. “Come on… I’ll pay.”      Remi shook his head.      “Share with me, then.” Her hand landed on his thigh, traveling upwards. “And I’ll give you the best tip you’ve gotten all night.”      He caught her by the forearm and placed her hand firmly back in her own lap.      “No fun,” she frowned petulantly, reaching into her bra for a fold of silver that she held out to him between her index and middle finger. Her eyes were onyx in the shadowy murk of the room. His jacket was lying draped over the armrest. Remi slipped his hand into the inner pocket, fingers closing around the last baggie before he pulled it out and offered it to her, the money and the drugs trading hands. I did it, he thought, a strange mix of relief and regret flooding him. And then… and then… she opened it. Poured it out on the low coffee table in front of them; a heap of white powder. Leaned over it, cutting it into four fat fucking lines with a long, perfectly manicured nail. Another bill came out of her bra – amazing what she had room for in there – and she rolled it up, leaning even lower over the table as she held it up to her nostril.

     Remi’s mouth went dry, watching her. He tried swallowing, but couldn’t, the motion nothing more than a painful bob of his larynx. He sat forward a little, accepting the bill from her when she passed it to him as she leaned back into her seat. He was powerless to it. Just one night – just a couple of hours. Of silence in his head. Of the tightness in his muscles dissipating. Of being numb. He flipped the rolled up bill over, using the other end as he cleared the two remaining lines from the polished stone surface of the table. Then he sank into the couch, too, leaning his head back against the cushions, slow breaths escaping through parted lips as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting. Waiting.

     And then bliss washed over him like a tidal wave.

     His eyes fell shut, enveloping him in a comforting darkness. A sigh seeped from his lungs; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so light, and nothing was wrong anymore. How could it be, when warmth was trickling through his veins and he was floating and the penthouse was dissolving around him? Not a single thought lingered in his brain – his consciousness was a waking dream, an all-encompassing euphoria that swept him along in its current and carried him away from everything. Everyone. From himself.

* * * 

     When he came back to the party, the dark-haired hooker was gone; he was alone, and happy to be, blithely fucking numb. It was lighter in the room, but it wasn’t because anybody had turned on any lights. The sky outside was brightening, an orange haze peeking above the horizon. Remi shifted, folding an arm underneath his head as he laid it on the armrest on top of his jacket, then used the last of his energy to bring his legs up onto the cushions beside him, curling up on the expensive couch. It wasn’t very comfortable, but he was, and it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

* * *

     Somewhere, in the next room, somebody was arguing, muffled voices bleeding through the wall. Remi screwed his eyes up and squinted against the sun in his face, slowly pushing himself into a seated position. Other bodies were scattered around on the furniture, some sleeping, some awake and groaning. He grabbed his jacket and stood, picking his way quietly through the room without disturbing or looking at anyone as he made his way to the elevator. And down he went, plummeting past floor after floor before he arrived at the garage. Walking towards his car, he pulled his phone from his pocket, waking the screen.

     And his stomach dropped.

     Calls. Texts. Notifications about voicemails. His eyes scanned rows and rows of them, all from Charlie. Please call me back. I need you. Where are you? Please… Please…    “Shit.” The word was a hiss, his fingers quick with practiced ease as he turned his phone over in his hands before he had time to change his mind or do something stupid like come to his senses.      The case that housed the device’s hardware clattered to the ground by his feet, the battery following a split second later. The chip snapped in half between his thumb and index. Then the phone itself was dropped, glass cracking into a million pieces as it landed face down on the concrete. Remi bent to pick up the broken parts, dropping them into a trash can that stood by the elevator doors before he walked the rest of the way to his car, got in, and headed for home.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Even If It Kills Us (but it wont hopefully) pt4

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY Sander’s Sides Mafia AU part 4! I have no clue how it got this far.

Part Three is right here if you need a refresher! And Part One is here if you’re new around. Summary: Virgil has always been normal. Unfortunately, when he’s named the heir to his family’s mafia normal is the last thing he needs to be, right there besides dead. 

Quick Taglist: @iolanomsgranola @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @skullfire2004 @deathshadowrules @laragazzadellluna @kindly-falling @lefaystrent @levy-the-b00kw0rm @fandomobsessed-nerd @just-another-rainbowblog

Let me know if I missed anyone or you want to be added

Virgil falls asleep listening to Roman talk about his cars and Patton answering politely and Logan grumbling under his breath.

He expects to wake up with a gun in his face

well not really

he expects to wake up on his desk back in his dorm with seven and a half empty energy drinks next to him and Patton making those concerned noises in the back of his throat.

Because he expects that the entire night had been some insane, chemically induced, fever dream that he can forget with a lot of coffee and a long conversation with Patton about anything else.

If that wasn’t an option, Virgil expects to wake up with a gun to his face, with just enough time to think fuc-- before Logan/Roman/someone pulls the trigger and Virgil’s lovely brain matter splatters all over the car seats.

Or maybe they’d let him crawl out of the car and they’d kill him in some remote warehouse and throw his body into a harbor 

like in the movies

Virgil recalls, vaguely, that Roman said “We’re going to mine.”

He thought that had meant, like, Roman had a safehouse or two

maybe a condo? stocked with the barest essentials

Or an abandoned apartment building

He wasn’t expecting to wake up to Roman’s entire fucking mansion

“Welcome to mi casa!” Roman finds a pair of shades somewhere and puts them on.

(It’s nearing one in the morning. why????)

 Despite that, Roman’s casa is bigger than the entire dorm building back at their college. Virgil can’t see much given the lack of light, but its massive. They drove by two fountains just to get to the garage, which, because Roman is just that extra was fucking underground with a door that rose up like the Batcave.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” Logan says. Virgil thinks he’s talking to him.

“You’re just jealous!” Roman sings as he drives down the brightly lit curved ramp to a parking garage. “I actually use the money I make!”

“I use my money as well!”

Roman snorts, “Right my bad! I did notice that was a new tie.”

Logan glances down at his tie-- still splattered with blood from earlier. “You noticed?”

“Of course!” Roman says, “What do you take me for?”

Patton sways in his seat facing Virgil with a toothy grin. His freckles seemed to have multiplied in the change of light. “Isn’t this exciting, V?”

Virgil shrugs because words are hard and he’s still tired 

and trying to figure out why Roman took them to his own house.

Aren’t they rivals?

Won’t his family try to kill him?

“I live alone!” Roman says as if he can read minds. He parks the car among a couple others arranged in a rainbow order.

“Just when I thought your gross misuse of finances couldn’t get more distasteful.” Logan sneers as he throws open his door.

“You love it!”

“I hate you!”

Patton giggles which sends a warm comforting feeling through Virgil.

(He still can’t believe that Patton is here with him, that Patton didn’t run off, that Patton didn’t save himself.)

((Guiltily, Virgil wonders if he would have done the same thing. He doesn’t like the answer he comes up with))

Virgil climbs out of the car, and Patton follows him a second later, mouth gaping with awe around the cavernous area.

There are a bunch of cars. Virgil doesn’t know the name of any of them.

Roman stops by his front tire again, huffing at the noticeable white dashes in the red. He rubs a thumb over one, wistful.

Virgil thinks he should just be happy they aren’t dead.

“V! Look!” Patton’s voice echoes in the empty hall, “It matches you!”

Its a purple car. Dark purple with decals in a laser vibrant purple. The windows are dark tinted. It looks more expensive than the red one they just climbed out of.

Virgil is mad about how much he likes it at first glance.

“You can have it,” Roman says.

Virgil whips to look at him.

“What? You obviously like it. I’ve had my eye on different purple Maserati for a few months.” Roman waves a hand. He strolls over to a wall of keys and grabs one from the hooks.

And throws it at Virgil.

He catches it out of instinct. And immediately drops it on the ground, because he’s never held anything that valuable before what the fuCK--

“What about you Padre?” Roman says, “See anything you like?”

“Roman!” Logan yells, “Stop throwing your resources around! It’s late and I would like to sleep.”

Roman sticks out his tongue at the other man, and throws an arm around a giggly Patton, “What is the point of amassing my babies if I can’t dote on my friends? You can still have the power cruiser--”

“I’ve told you before I don’t need a motorcycle!”

His face is surprisingly pink for that statement. Logan straightens himself. fiddling with his tie. “I appreciate the offer, Prince. But if I wanted it, I would have bought myself one. I don’t need your charity--stop, stop that!”

Roman smiles and lowers the hand he was using to mock the other. 

Virgil smothers the urge to laugh, it rises up into a sharp cough that he isn’t nearly as good at hiding.

Roman looks delighted.

“Okay, okay,” he says, “Inside we go.” He hooks Patton around the waist and leads him towards the area where Logan was, like its Prom night.

“And hey, Amethyst Alarm,” he calls over his shoulder, “either keep the keys or put them back on the wall.” He shoots a grin that makes Virgil’s stomach do a flip for some stupid reason.

Virgil grabs the keys off the ground and storms over to the wall.

how dare he just give Virgil a fucking car

He doesn’t need a flashy purple car

He needs to not be dead before the end of the week.

Owning a car like that? riding in one?

Virgil’s driver’s license is mostly for show: he walked everywhere he needed to go.

He puts the keys on the hook.

Somehow they end up in his pocket. 

Fuck

The inside of his house is just as big as the garage.

“It’s not much...” Roman has the audacity to say right to Virgil’s face.

Has he ever seen a college dorm room.

Virgil has grown up just barely getting by. Raised by a single mother, in this economy?

Until Patton came along Virgil had always assumed he’d go straight into the work force rather than try for a college. 

And standing in the kitchen of Roman’s mansion, part of him is just barely resisting the urge to wrap his hands around Roman’s neck and give him a shake.

((The other part feels like he just started living Ouran Highschool Host Club)) 

“Is anyone hungry?” Roman says, “I can’t cook but there’s stuff in there. Oh! wait we can order pizza!--”

Logan bats the side of Roman’s head, “This is no time to just be eating! And we are not ordering a Pizza! That’s just asking for unwanted access to the building. We need to figure out what we are going to do to keep Virgil safe until he is ready to take over.”

Virgil’s stomach does a bad drop thing. Because then he remembers that despite the fancy cars and the huge house and the excess of money, Roman and Logan both do things that are super illegal.

And hello? Virgil doesn’t want to go to jail. 

They killed people. Virgil has trouble disposing of the spiders that find their way in the room even when Patton is frantically begging him to obliterate the “creepy crawly death dealer”.

“I can cook!” Patton says brightly before Virgil can voice any of those thoughts in his head. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something, probably demeaning and rude.

“It’s okay!” Patton is quicker, “You guys must be all tired! I’ll make something quick to eat and you guys can talk about all that business stuff! Then we can go off to bed!”

Logan looks like he just wants to argue because he can.

“Sounds great, Pat,” Virgil cuts in because really he is tired.

“Fine,” Logan huffs. He waves around the kitchen, “At least you’re useful for something.”

“Can you not?” Virgil snaps, “He’s been more useful than you have!”

“Pardon?! I--”

“It’s okay!” Patton says, “I don’t mind, kiddo! Cooking helps me think!”

“And not being around fools helps me think,” Logan turned away from them, “Prince, you have an armory, do you not? I would like to re-equip myself.”

If Virgil had to guess Roman’s expression reads “this is a bad idea”, but he forces a smile, and claps his hands.

“Excellent idea! Come along my dear Orchid Offense! We must find you a weapon as well!”

“Don’t call me that,” Virgil says.

He glances back at Patton, who is already sorting through the (well stocked) pantry with a grin. It doesn’t feel right to leave him behind. 

((when was the last time he went somewhere without Patton?))

But Logan is already out the door and down the hall(?) and Roman tapping his foot impatiently. 

Virgil goes.

It feels wrong. Bad.

Roman prattles on about something. Virgil’s hyper aware of how close they are standing, how Roman’s hair does this stupid wave when he combs it back with a hand, how his sunglasses comes off his head and hang off his collar like some frat boy and Virgil is left staring at eyes burning with a warm passion.

Logan walks a few steps ahead of them, moving like he knows this place. His glasses catch on the light which prevents Virgil from seeing them.

His shoulders are tense though, tense and and angry and frustrated.

“What’s your deal with Patton?” Virgil asks him, effectively cutting off Roman.

Logan sends a glare in his direction. “Pardon? I don’t have a “deal” with your cardigan clad clout.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I’m not fooling anyone,” Logan’s terse response should have had the hairs on Virgil’s neck rising. Instead it just makes him angrier.

“He is a liability,” Logan says, “Your friendship with him-- particularly your unwillingness to tell him to go home is frustrating to me. He isn’t part of this situation. He would be safer if you would cease communication with him all together.”

He turns around at the end of the hall, standing somewhat in the shadows and appearing very threatening. they are face-to-face again.

(Blood on his collar, blood on his tie, tense shoulders, and powerful hands)

Roman’s voice dies in his throat at the expression on Logan’s face.

“You, Virgil, would be safer if you ceased communication with him all together.” Logan says, “Because the second anyone outside this room finds out your unwillingness to sacrifice him, they will use it against you. I don’t even trust Roman to not one day use this information to his advantage--”

“HEy!”

“--This family is all that I have.” Logan says, “This is all I have known. You are to be the new leader of it, and I cannot afford to follow a leader who can be blackmailed.”

“Have you considered that I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR LEADER!” 

It appeared as if the thought had, indeed, not.

Virgil stands toe to toe with Logan, every terrible feeling in his stomach swirling into toxic thoughts. He can’t bring himself to take a step back, to put more space between them, to give into the itch of his skin that feels like a million bugs burrowing into his veins.

Because he doesn’t want this

didn’t ask for this

not Roman’s cars, not Logan’s loyal following or whatever he thinks this is

Virgil wanted to live to see Twenty-one, to graduate.

He wanted to hook his arm with Patton’s and stroll down the street to the movies and eat too-salty popcorn and drink overly expensive soda and not be shot at.

Mafia family? Thanks, but no thanks. Virgil is a struggling college student with no family. He thinks he prefers it, to half his family trying to kill him because of some guy Virgil never met died.

Logan stares at Virgil his dark eyes searching for something.

Virgil doesn’t know what, doesn’t care, doesn’t.

Then Roman laughs. It shatters the tension between the three of them like a sledge hammer, and it isn’t pleasant. It’s the laughter he had used back when he first pulled up on the side walk and told them to get in or die.

“Take a breather, Sanders,” he says unkindly. Virgil doesn’t know if he means Logan or him.

“You’re both acting like this is the end of the world.” The other heir to the rival mafia family breezes by the two of them to a random door and pushes it open. “For one, Lolo, your job is like the least dangerous.”

“Does your stupidity know no ends?” Logan shoots back, “My job is the most dangerous. I handle the money.”

Virgil’s 95% sure he misheard.

“I’m sorry, you’re an accountant?”

Because if the accountant killed a bunch of guys, what the fuck could the rest of the family do?

Logan’s ears turn red, “I prefer the term bookkeeper!”

“Oh yes! Such a fear inducing nickname, Calculator Watch!” Roman rolls his eyes, “Beware the bookkeeper! He can do three digit division while drunk!”

“Shut up!” Logan snarls at him. He shoulder checks the other out of the way and pushes into the room Roman motioned for their needs. “It was one time--”

Virgil looks at Roman who had a Cheshire smile curling off his face. “No it wasn’t.”

Virgil doesn’t even know where to start unpacking that statement.

Honestly, he’s still digesting the fact that Logan is a glorified four function calculator and not some experienced hitman/assassin/enforcer combination.

The armory, is well, an armory? 

Virgil’s never been in an armory before.

Four walls each with a multitude of weapons on them: more guns than Virgil has ever seen, a whole section dedicated to swords, axes, javelins-- where did Roman get all this stuff? 

Nevermind Virgil didn’t want to know.

Logan scampers to the guns without much of hesitation. His fingers ghost over his options before he takes one off the stand and considers it.

Roman dances around the walls, absolutely delighted. He pauses at the swords, and Virgil swears he hears the term “precious-es” drop from his mouth.

Virgil drifts.

His eyes catch on a few of the blades, although they all look to be ceremonial. He tries to remember the last time he carried his knife with him. High school? No it must have been when he moved out for college. His mother always insisted that if he was going to go out, he’d have a knife with him. 

He had left it on his bed, certain that the blade and his mother could keep each other better company than he ever had. 

“Help yourself!” Roman tells them, “I have plenty--”

“ROMAN!” 

Virgil turns at the sound of Logan’s scream.

(because it isn’t a yelp, isn’t a yell, it’s a scream full of a raw emotion and panic and Virgil didn’t know Logan was capable of that.)

And then there’s a gunshot.

because there’s always a gun shot.

Virgil blinks.

One second Logan is standing in front of a rack of guns then next both he and Roman are on the ground and there’s someone else in the room dressed from head to foot in black with smiling Mardi Gras masks. 

the light panel behind Roman and his swords shatters.

Logan’s gun raises and he fires, but the shot goes wide from his awkward angle. 

The intruder fires again and this time he doesn’t miss.

Logan swears. 

And Virgil is just standing there, frozen, like someone watching a terrible, horrible movie. By the time he remembers to move there’s three more guys in the room all armed, Logan’s gun is on the ground, and he’s gripping his shooting shoulder with a murderous look, and there’s no escape. 

“Who the fuck!” Roman demands, from his spot on the ground. His sun glasses had skidded across the room and Virgil watches at they go crunch under one of the men’s boots.

“Roman Prince,” One of them says, “And Virgil Sanders, it’s time you are  both dethroned.”

Virgil hasn’t even been on this throne more than five hours

The man doesn’t seem to care. He and his buddies raised their guns.

“No!” Logan yells, blood pouring down his arm.

Virgil stares down the barrel of a gun. Knife in his hand and knows that he’s too far away to do anything, not enough practice recently to be able to throw it, not enough, not enough.

He can see their fingers on the triggers--

And then a frying pan slams into the back of one of the men’s heads and he drops like a wet sandbag to the floor. 

Virgil watches without being able to breathe as someone--someone kicks the knees out of another guy and his shots explode right up the wall behind Roman leaving him unharmed.

someone jams an elbow into another’s throat and then slams his head with another intruder. 

someone palm strikes the last man in the gut and when the man doubles over someone breaks them over his knee. 

Then Virgil, Roman, and Logan are left staring at Patton standing over four unconscious men with a dangerously bright smile that highlighted the faint markings of bruise on his left cheek and a frying pan in his right hand.

“Sorry kiddos! I may have made a bit of a mess in the kitchen!”

Part Five

[let-it-raines]

CSJJ Day 14: The Writing is on the Other Side of The Wall

Summary: Emma Swan’s favorite author is her next door neighbor, but just because she loves his writing doesn’t mean she loves him. She doesn’t even like him. In fact, one could say that she absolutely hates Killian Jones and the way he blares his music through their shared walls and how he’s always incessantly flirting with anything that breathes. 

He drives her insane, and she’s about one three am wake-up call away from breaking into his apartment and throwing his speaker out the window. Or maybe she is one three am wake-up call or one knock on her door away from her life beginning to change forever. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: Hey, I’m back again! I hope you all have been enjoying the first half of this event (and that you will enjoy the rest) and are reading all of the great works out there! Everyone involved in @csjanuaryjoy is just wonderful ♥️ I’d also like to thank the anon who sent me the prompt for this story. I’ve been waiting to share this with you!

Also found on ao3 | here |

Tag List: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @ekr032-blog-blog @branlovestowrite @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @nikkiemms @dreadpirateemma

His hand falls to his side, grasping tightly to the wound and firmly applying pressure to try to get the bleeding to stop. He’s desperate, his entire body surging with pain, and he knows this is likely it for him if Kate doesn’t get here soon to help him. God, Kate. He loves her, and he needs her.

But she’s not here.

“Fuuuuck,” Emma groans, slamming the book closed before tossing it across the room, a dull thud echoing when it hits against her dresser. “How the hell do you just end a book like that? Seriously?”

She throws her head back against the bed, closing her eyes and grimacing thinking about how she just stayed up all night reading the newest addition to the Crashing Waves series. She’s pissed, feels as if her own heart has just been ripped out of her chest or like she’s been shot in the stomach like Connor. It’s dramatic, but she has to go to the office for a meeting in – she looks down at her phone – three hours on no sleep.

Damn you, Killian Jones.

Almost as if on cue, music starts blaring from the other side of her bedroom wall, muted sounds of Hozier playing through the sheetrock. If she was asleep, it’d wake her up, as it does almost every night. God, her neighbor is so annoying, and maybe she’s a little pissed because he’s the reason she never gets any sleep. Usually it’s because he plays music during all hours of the night (and day), whenever inspiration strikes him apparently, but tonight it’s because his new book came out yesterday and she absolutely couldn’t wait to read it.

It’s ridiculous, really. She’s a scraping by bail bondsperson who lives in a crappy apartment with thin walls (obviously) and a frankly disturbing pipe system for her water, and her neighbor is an accomplished author whose books are always on the best-seller’s list, usually the top. She read something the other day about them possibly being adapted into a television show or a movie, so he’s obviously doing well for himself. Hell, she just bought his book for twenty dollars.

But he still lives here.

It doesn’t make any sense.

It’s still the reality, though. Her neighbor is one of her favorite authors – and she has a hell of a lot of those – and she absolutely hates him when it comes to him being a human being that she personally knows.

Really, really hates him.

The music is one thing. Yes, she knows that she works weird hours, never really does have a regular sleeping schedule, but she’s not disturbing other people during sleeping hours…okay, so her skips don’t count. They’ve done something illegal and then skipped out on their court date, so they deserve to be disturbed during sleeping hours. But she’s still home a lot at night, often sleeping, and she’s woken up every time he starts playing music…which always means he’s writing. She only knows that because she’s read all of his books and watched a few interviews (on Good Morning America totally by accident she swears) and he’s said that he writes while blasting music.

She wants to blast him.

Does that even make any sense? Probably not, but she’s exhausted.

But it’s not just the music. He’s an asshole, and she’s not exaggerating. He’s impossible to talk to without him flirting with you in that deep British accent of his, and for awhile, she thought maybe he was just hitting on her. He’s not. He talks that way to everyone, and it gets under her skin in the worst way possible. She doesn’t know why, but it does.

Sometimes, though, while she’s talking to him at the mailboxes or asking him to quite nicely shut the fuck up, he’ll get this glazed over look in his eyes, looking above her forehead, and it’s like he’s no longer a participant in the conversation. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s not here for people ignoring her.

There’s been enough of that in her life.

Don’t even get her started on how he always gets the best parking spot. She’s never once been able to park near their building. She’s always parking blocks away while his Chevelle is nearly always resting in one of the spots just a few feet from the door.

The thing she hates most about him, though, is that he was once witness to this awful, blow-out break up she had with her ex. It was humiliating, her face red and tear-stained as she yelled at Neal and the girl he was cheating on her with to get the fuck out of herapartment, their pants basically still around their ankles. She was heartbroken, her body physically feeling like it couldn’t go on anymore, and when she looked up, there he was coming up the stairs with a few bags of groceries in his hands and a dumbfounded look on his face that’s forever scorched in her memory.

“Swan, bloody hell. What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” she sniffles, wiping at the tears at her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath, “Just…forget you ever saw anything. It’s not important.”

“Love, it – ”

“Don’t.” She holds her hand up before taking a step inside her apartment. “I’m not your love or anyone else’s apparently.”

That wasn’t…he didn’t do anything wrong there, but he was there and now she associates that moment with him. It was one of the many low points in her life, one she doesn’t like to remember along with the foster homes and all of the people who have left, but it often does in the middle of the night when her body’s fighting sleep…but then the music always starts.

“Jones,” she yells, reaching up and pounding so hard her fist hurts, “turn the music down. I’m sleeping.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t even care, especially when he never does end up turning the music down. Bastard.

She walks into Lucas Bonds at nine that morning, the largest travel mug she owns full of coffee and her eyes covered in dark sunglasses to keep herself from dying in the sunlight and bad florescent lights in the office. She’s exhausted, every limb in her body somehow dragging behind her, and if she doesn’t have a nap soon, she might very well pass out.

“Woah, why the hangover kit?” Ruby laughs the moment she plops down in her chair, the wheels turning as she slides back. “I didn’t know you were going out last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why do you look like you’ve been run over with a truck?”

“Didn’t sleep. Like, at all. There was maybe an hour in there at the end.”

“Hot neighbor keeping you up again?”

“You could say that.”

“What?” Ruby practically flies out of her chair, leaning forward and clamoring over the desk to get in her face. “Did you finally get rid of all of that sexual tension and fuck him? Damn. Way to go Swan.”

“Ew,” she groans, sliding her glasses to the top of her head and taking another sip of her coffee, “I did not fuck him. I barely know him.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“It has when I have to see the guy again. Ruby, why are we here this early? Couldn’t she have done this later? Where’s Granny?”

“On the way. She’s running late.”

“Of course she is.”

Granny finally rolls in a quarter until ten, and it takes no more than thirty seconds for her to get down to business, going through their quarterly reports, trends, and tips for improvement. It’s ridiculous how detailed her boss is, but it works. It would just work better if they did it on another day. But she really does only have to blame herself, even if she is blaming Killian, and after Granny divides up cases for the next two weeks, Emma heads home and immediately falls asleep, hoping for no more music from next door.

Her weeks pass as normal, hours spent working tracking down skips far outnumbering the hours of music blaring through her bedroom wall. She knocks, Killian ignores it, and everything that she knows about her life stays the same.

Then the heater in her bug breaks in November, the chill of Boston biting while she drives around in the frigid air. She swears that it’s colder inside of her car than it is outside, and that makes for some long nights watching for her skips to pop up where her info says they are.

She figures this guy isn’t going to show, and she curses him to herself. His bail was larger than her normal guys, possession of a hell of a lot of drugs but not enough to be a drug dealer, and the pay from his fee would be enough to fix her heater so she doesn’t freeze to death in the winter. She’ll have to do more honey traps instead of stakeouts if she doesn’t get him, and she’s honestly not sure what’s worse.

Freezing to death in her car.

That’s worse.

But then Jeremy Lockhart steps out of the bar he’s apparently been frequenting, and she knows she has to make her move now before the future frostbite begins to consume her. As quietly as she can, she gets out of her car, making sure the door closes without so much as a click. She jogs up to him, her gun hitting her side under her shirt while she moves.

“Excuse me,” she calls out, putting on her sweetest voice, “excuse me sir.”

He turns around and a grin that makes her skin crawl moves across his face. “Yes, darling?”

She shudders, the pet name sounding disgusting on his lips, but he can’t know she thinks that. “I have a flat tire, and I was wondering if you could help me.”

His eyes study her, flicking up and down her body while his tongue pokes out and runs across his bottom lip. “For a woman as fine as you, of course.”

“Oh thank you so much. You’re just the biggest help.”

She leads him back to her car, walking just behind him so she can grab her handcuffs from her belt, and while she’s fumbling, she doesn’t notice Jeremy turning on her, his fist colliding with her cheek and sending her to the ground.

“You’re the bitch who’s been following me,” he spits, the saliva landing next to her stinging cheek. He kicks at her calf, and she cringes, attempting to think through her next move if he doesn’t walk away. “Maybe next time don’t drive such an obvious car. A fucking yellow bug, like you’re a daisy or something delicate when you’re obviously not.”

At that, he jogs away, gravel kicking against her all the while she cups her cheek, trying to assess the damage and make sure he didn’t knock out any teeth or break something. Fuck, this hurts. Like a lot. It hurts a hell of a lot, her face throbbing and stinging while she gets up and walks to her car, her kicked leg dragging the slightest bit. Bastard. He’s a bastard, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. When she settles inside, she pops down her visors, checking the mirror to see that the left side of her face is red and beginning to swell. She’s sure a bruise will form, but honestly, despite all of the pain, all she can think about now is not having the money to fix her damn heater.

Happy winter to her. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

It’s a long drive home, a wreck causing the usual late-night traffic to be backed up and at a standstill. Her face continues to throb while she sits there, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and listening to the music play from her radio. She can already see a bit of purple coming in, something that’s going to take a lot of makeup to cover up, especially since she knows she’s going to have to take the honey trap cases again.

Granny’s going to be so pissed at her for going after Lockhart alone.

She’s kind of pissed at herself. She should have known better, but what’s done is done.

After two hours, most of which was spent scrolling through Pinterest on her phone and draining her battery, she makes it back to her apartment around one in the morning, finding a spot a few blocks over and walking the rest of the way, trying not to get pissed at Jones’s car parallel parked right near the entrance. She hurts, her body stiff from the sitting and the hits, and it takes her longer than it should to climb the three flights of stairs.

She’s just made it to the top when the door next to hers opens and Killian walks out in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. She gulps, her eyes moving over him. She can’t stand the dude, but as Ruby says, he’s hot. Him being shirtless, his lean muscles and black chest hair on full display, isn’t really helping her think otherwise, and if she didn’t think her body would fall out from under her for walking downstairs, she’d turn around and walk away so as to avoid all of…that.

It’s very distracting, especially with the way he’s got an anchor tattooed on his hip, dipping into his pants with his treasure trail of hair and a slight bulge. Yeah, she’s never going to be able to forget that, and all she wants is to forget this night.  

But she can’t avoid him, so she takes a deep breath before walking toward her door, trying as hard as she can to hide her limp and keep the left side of her face out of his view as he fiddles with his door knob. God, he’s so weird. What the hell is he doing? She inches closer, trying to keep her gaze away from the way his muscles dip into a v-shape and the damn tattoo, but then he turns around just as she’s passing his door.

“Hey, Swan? Late night ou – bloody hell, what happened to your face?”

She cringes, the movement making her face sting even more. “Quite the thing to say to a woman, Jones.”

His hand automatically goes up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on one side and the muscles of his arm twitching. “That’s not what I meant, love. You’ve,” he motions toward her, circling around her cheek, “you’ve got quite a bit of a bruise forming. Did someone…did someone hit you? Are you alright? Do I need to take you to the hospital? Or the police?”

“I’m fine,” she sighs, trying to school her features. “It was just a skip gone wrong. You don’t have to worry about it or me.”

“If you’re sure. But I’ve got…I’ve got a frozen steak in my freezer if you want it. To help with the swelling, not to eat. Though you can eat it if you want.”

She rolls her eyes. He’s being nice, not his usual cocky self, and she doesn’t want to be rude to him. Okay, so she does. She wants to complain about the music and the flirting and ask why he’s studying his door knob in the middle of the night, but she bites her tongue. The steak would be a hell of a lot better than the ice pack she was going to make in a Ziploc bag, so she nods her head.

“Alright then, you can follow me in while I get it or you can wait out here.”

He walks inside without checking to see if she’s following him, so naturally she follows him. His apartment has the exact same layout as hers, but his furniture is a hell of a lot nicer. It almost makes the place look nice and a little less crappy. He’s got a brown leather couch with a plaid throw draped over it, more throw pillows than anyone has a right to, as well as two matching arm chairs. Unsurprisingly, his walls are covered in bookshelves, the tall dark oak stretching from floor to ceiling absolutely covered in books, meticulously organized by size and color.

Wow. That’s…insane. But he is a writer, she guesses. He’s got to be really into books and a little eccentric. The random music and studying of a doorknob are proof enough of that.

“Here,” Killian offers, holding the steak out to her, “I hope this helps.”

“Thank you.” She takes it and presses against her cheek before beginning to walk back to the door. “I, um, maybe you could not play the music tonight so I can sleep. Or have you considered headphones?”

He smiles with his entire face, his teeth shining against his stubble, before winking at her. “You know how it is, love. It’s my method for writing. I can’t change things up or the next book will never get written. Have you read any of them?”

“No,” she lies, pressing the steak a little further into her cheek while his eyebrow raises in question. “I honestly have never considered it. Never really have time. My neighbor is an asshole who can’t be quiet.”

“Aye, but an asshole with a frozen steak that’s yours to keep.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

He winks again, his smirk positively salacious while he hovers over her, the heat of his body consuming her for a moment until he takes a step back. “I’m always a gentleman.”

Miraculously, no music plays from the other side of the wall that night, and she manages to sleep through the night, only waking to stick the steak back in her freezer and make herself an ice pack. She’s really got to invest in some of the premade ones, but she’d preferably like to not get punched again. She wakes the next morning with a purple face and a slightly swollen eye, but it’s not as bad as she thought it would be.

She’s going to pretend it’s not from the steak keeping the swelling down.

Granny is indeed pissed that she went after Lockhart alone, and so is Ruby. They give her an absolute earful before telling her she can’t go out looking for skips and has to work in the office until her face heals. She protests, the need for a heated car and money calling her name, but Granny says no. And when her boss says no, she has to listen. She may be older and a grandmother, but she is absolutely terrifying when she needs to be. She’s the only motherly influence Emma has as well as being her employer, so Emma begrudgingly listens.

Loyalty and a paycheck and all that.

She’s sitting on her couch, a bowl of popcorn with melted milk duds next to her, while she does some research for Ruby, trying to track down skips and working up fake Tinder profiles to be used in the future. It’s just as she’s drafted a profile for Jacqueline Carmichael, a spicy (she can’t believe these are the types of words that work on men) brunette who just loves to have fun, that there’s a knock on her door. She closes her laptop, putting it on the coffee table and wiping her hands on her jeans before walking over and stretching up on her socked toes to look through the peep hole.

It’s Killian. He’s standing outside of her door and rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands behind his back.

She sighs before she unlocks her door, turning the bolts and undoing the chain before the wood swings open.

“Hi, Jones.”

“Hello, love.”

She waits for him to say something else, to give his reason for knocking, but he doesn’t. instead he smiles at her, gaze never leaving hers. He looks almost…giddy. What is – what is happening?

She leans against her doorframe and crosses her arms. “Did you need something?”

“Have you ever considered having a ride-a-long with you when you’re tailing skips?”

Oh hell no. That is not happening.

“Nope. And I’m not going to consider it now if that’s what you’re asking. I like to work alone.”

“What if I pay you?”

That gets her attention. She could use the money. Like, she could really use the money, and while it would totally mess with her method, it wouldn’t be that bad would it? Would he talk too much? Would he try to tell her she was doing her job wrong? Is it worth the money?

Money is a girl’s best friend.

“Why?”

“I’m looking for some inspiration and practical experience for my new book.”

“How much are you willing to pay?”

“I, um,” he mumbles, scratching at his chin, “what would you like?”

She hesitates, unsure of what to ask for. “Is this going to be a one-time thing or multiple rides?”

“Multiple, probably.”

She thinks about it for a moment, weighing what’s appropriate and knowing how much he has to make. “Can you swing two hundred per ride?”

He grins, nodding his head. “I can do that.”

“Perfect,” she smiles, reaching out and shaking his hand, ignoring the warmth of his palm and the strength of his grip. “I’m not going out again until next Monday, if I have something. You good to go out late at night?”

“Ready to go whenever you are, Swan.”

She’s pretty sure she just made a deal with the devil, but money is money. It better be worth it.

“So what exactly are we doing?”

Killian’s fidgeting around her desk at the office, going through her pens and papers and swirling her coffee mug all while she looks through their database to see if they have anybody they’ve paid bail for miss their court dates. They’ve got two, both men, and she knows that they’ll be easy to bring in.

“I’m looking for work.”

“It doesn’t just come to you?”

She rolls her eyes before rolling her chair back and propping her feet up on her desk. “For a writer, you sure as hell don’t do any research.”

“This, darling,” he points to her and grins, “is my research.”

“Okay,” she sighs, piling her hair up into a bun on her head so it’ll stop falling in her eyes, “so most of our work is done in the office. If someone can’t pay for their bail, which happens a lot for people who commit small-time crimes, we pay it for them for a fee, usually a percentage of their bail. That’s how we make our money.”

“So when do you chase people down?”

“Only about fifteen percent of the time do we have to do that. Most people show up to their court date, we get our money back plus the fee, and we’re good to go. But when they don’t, Granny has Ruby and me, as well as Will who mostly works out of office and does long distance stuff, more bounty hunter-ish, track them down and bring them back to court so we can get our money.”

“And that’s what you were doing when you got beat up a few weeks ago?”

“I didn’t get beat up but yes.”

“Huh,” he sighs, leaning back and stretching his hands above his head, his sweater lifting a bit to reveal some hair on his stomach and the tip of his tattoo, “interesting. So you really do mostly sit in the office or at home?”

“Yep. It’s not as exciting as people think. It’s a lot of sitting on your ass.”

“But do you like it?”

She shrugs. “It pays the bills. And I do like the adventure sometimes. Don’t like the getting punched or late nights. Aren’t you supposed to be writing this down?”

He taps his head. “I’ve got it all up here. But I’m also recording it on my phone.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “I hope that’s okay.” “As long as you’re not doing anything creepy with it, that’s fine. I’ll kick your ass if you do.” She rises from her chair, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You want to go for that ride?”

“Absolutely.”

“So now we’re sitting around on our asses but in a car.”

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, reaching into her cup holder and grabbing the coffee they stopped for before making their way downtown to wait outside Josh Plunkett’s apartment building. “Can I ask one more question?”

“That’s what you’re paying for.” “Why is it so bloody cold in here?”

“Heater’s broken.”

“And you don’t want to fix it?”

She rolls her eyes, having to hold back every sarcastic and biting remark that’s running through her mind. Yeah, this is definitely going to be more difficult than she thought it would be, which isn’t saying much. “I was going to use the money I got from the guy who gave me a black eye to fix it, but we never caught him and lost all of our money for him. So no heater.”

Killian doesn’t say anything else, just hums in response, and that’s pretty much how it goes for the next four hours. Sometimes he asks questions, most of them about her job, but that’s it. He’s still the same flirtatious guy that he always is, but it’s not nearly as obnoxious. Maybe it’s because she’s not tired and he’s not blaring his music through her wall. Instead he’s quietly listening to music through her radio, keeping his hands away from the knobs and letting her pick.

Good.

Plunkett never leaves his building, and since she can’t technically go inside, she gives up for the day, driving them back to their apartment and parting ways after Killian gives her the money he owes.

Over the course of December, Killian Jones becomes a constant at her side. He’s annoying and a little insufferable, but he’s also helping to make her two hundred dollars richer much faster than she usually would. Plus, not that she’d ever tell him, she’s kind of geeking out about the fact that her job could inspire a part of the next Crashing Waves book. When things get quiet, sometimes she almost asks him about what’s going to happen next, if he can tell her if Connor is going to be okay, but then she’d have to tell him she’s obsessed with his books.

And that’s just not going to happen.

He’s warming up to her though.

Maybe that’s just the coffee he brings her before every ride-a-long. He only had to ask once to know how she takes it, and he’s gotten it right every time since. If anything, that wins him the tiniest of points. The fact that he’s kind of funny and makes up commentary for the people they see walk by who aren’t her skips gives him some more of these fictitious points if only for keeping her entertained for hours on end.

Her phone buzzes on her bedside table, and she rolls over to pick it up, an unknown number popping up on the screen.

Unknown: So I’m thinking I’m the Castle to your Beckett.

Emma Swan: Jones?

Unknown: Killian Jones. Richard Castle. Same thing, milady. We’re both suave, dashingly handsome writers with beautiful law enforcement partners.

God, he’s so dumb. She wonders how long he took to piece together the idea that he’s anything like Castle. Hell, that’s probably where he got the idea for this whole thing. She snickers under her breath before burrowing under her blankets and looking back at her phone.

Emma Swan: How the hell did you get my number?

Killian Jones: Watched you type your phone password in, swiped it when you went to the bathroom last week, and then texted myself before deleting the message off your phone.

Emma Swan: Creepy, dude. You could have just asked.

Killian Jones: Yeah, well, it’s too late now because I have your digits, love.

Who the hell says digits? Killian can be old fashioned but not old fashioned enough to say digits. Yeah, he’s a curious case this Killian Jones.

Killian Jones: I’m about to write some. Will it disturb you if I play my music?

Emma Swan: Always.

Killian Jones: Well, I do so fancy you when you’re yelling at me. And when you’re not.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes before twisting in her bed. Sure enough, his music starts blaring through her bedroom wall. She doesn’t bother texting back, knowing he’s likely getting in the writing zone and dead to the world, but she does bang on her bedroom wall, not expecting a response as always.

But to her surprise, he knocks back twice…and then cranks the music up.

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it, and she yells out, “Asshole.”

“So what exactly is she doing with us today?” Killian asks her before looking back at Ruby in the backseat.

They’re in Killian’s Chevelle today while her bug is in the shop getting fixed – as funded by Killian Jones and his new obsession with bail bonds – and Ruby had demanded to ride along on their ride-a-long as well as actually being here for work. This car is a million times nicer than her car, than their apartments honestly, and she’s for some reason relieved that he’s made some concession to his wealth, even if she used to be annoyed every time she saw his car. Plus, it’s got these adapted heated seats that are to die for.

Seriously.

Her ass has never been this warm.

“Same could go to you, buddy,” Ruby challenges, poking her head up between the two of them while Killian drives them to the bar where her date is waiting. “This is my job, too.”

“I know that, but Emma’s showing me a honey trap date tonight. I wasn’t aware that took two people.”

“It’s for if he tries to run away,” she explains to Killian, patting him on the arm and telling him to take a left at the next turn. “And Ruby’s also sadistic and likes to watch the poor guys go from thinking they’re on a date to being taken down to a station and put behind bars.”

“Damn right.”

“You’re quite the character, love.”

“Yeah? You gonna write me into your book? I think I’d probably read them for that.”

Killian chuckles and looks over at her, raising his eyebrows. She shrugs and shakes her head in response. She doesn’t have any answers for Ruby either but man does she love her friend.

“Maybe,” Killian acquiesces, winking at her so Ruby can’t see, and her stomach does some kind of weird flip. “I’m still working out all of the kinks in my plotting process, but I like where things are going. The development is coming along quite nicely. The pub just up here, darling?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answers, pointing toward an open parking spot, “park there so we can get to the car quickly if we need to.”

Ruby’s gone ahead and walked into the bar, the three of them not daring walk in together, and she and Killian stand outside the entrance. It’s absolutely freezing, and her dress barely covers her previously warm ass. God, she hates this sometimes. She’s adjusting her dress, pulling it down her thighs and propping her boobs up all while Killian very obviously looks the other way.

“Alright,” she claps, trying to get his attention back to her, “how do I look?”

Killian finally looks her up and down, his blue eyes tracing her body in a way that doesn’t make her entirely uncomfortable. Then again, she did ask him how she looked. She gave him permission to check her out. His tongue pokes out, running against his bottom lip, and she chooses to ignore the tingling sensation at the base of her spine and the way her legs unexpectedly feel unsteady. It’s the heels. It’s got to be the heels.

“Beautiful,” he compliments, and heat rises to her cheeks. Suddenly his thumb is touching the corner of her lips, their bodies entirely too close so that she can feel the heat radiating off of him compared to the chill of the air. Holy shit. What is happening? “You’ve got a bit of stray lipstick.”

He abruptly pulls back, but he doesn’t step further away from her until he places his thumb in her eyeline. Sure enough, there’s a bit of her red lipstick on his finger.

Oh.

That makes…he was being helpful, but none of that changes the way her mind is suddenly cloudy and every part of her is reeling from their proximity and the way her body is responding to him. It’s not – she’s not felt that way before, not with him, with Killian. He’s her obnoxious neighbor, the incessant flirt. He’s not someone who should make heat flutter between her thighs at the touch of his thumb to her lips.

She doesn’t do relationships, not anymore, and she can’t afford for any part of her to want Killian Jones.

“Thank you.” She smiles before shaking herself out of it, getting herself back into the mood to work. That’s why they’re here after all, not for her to want to sleep with Killian. “So I’m going to go inside, find Jason, and in three minutes you can come in and sit at the bar or wherever gives you a good enough view for your notes, okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

At that she leaves him as well as trying to leave behind all of these weird as hell feelings she’s suddenly having after whatever that was. Jason’s sitting at a table in the middle of the room, the other tables around him only mildly crowded. Perfect. That’s always better than back corners.

“Jason?” she questions, her voice higher pitched than usual, legs still the slightest bit unsteady. “You’re Jason, right?”

“I am,” he smiles, his eyes looking up and down her body in the same way as Killian’s did…but somehow more salacious. She really hates doing this sometimes. Has she already thought that? Probably. She can’t think it enough. These guys are all scumbags. “You’re Laura, right?”

“Yes, so nice to meet you.”

She settles down into the chair across for him, finding Ruby up at the bar just for safety purposes. Jason seems nice enough, but he also missed his trail for refusing to pay child support. So he’s an asshole, just not a dangerous asshole. Hopefully.

“So what do you do, Jason? I know that’s super boring first date conversation, but a girl just has to ask.”

“I’m a lawyer.”

He’s a liar.

“Oh really?” she flirts, leaning forward to twirl her drink around and prop her boobs up, the flesh practically spilling out of the material. “That’s so fascinating. What’s your specialty?”

“Oh, um, law suits.”

And not an inventive liar at that.

“So it’s not skipping out on providing over twenty thousand dollars for your children who you abandoned?”

Yeah, so maybe that last little part was for her. She enjoys taking guys like this down if nothing more than personal satisfaction for how her parents abandoned her. And, you know, to make sure those kids at least have the financial support to have a better life than her, asshole dad aside.

The smile on Jason’s face changes almost as quickly as the one on hers does before he’s throwing his wine all over her dress and running toward the door. Yeah, this is exactly why Ruby’s here.

“Dammit,” she mutters, knowing the dress is unsalvageable before getting up and heading toward Jason only for Killian to literally come out of nowhere and punch him in the face, causing Killian to curse and Jason to tumble backward into her waiting arms. “Or maybe not.”

She grabs Jason’s wrists, handcuffing him, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Ruby on the phone, likely with the guys down at the station to come pick him up since they’re near the precinct, as well as sliding extra cash over to the bartender for the disturbance they caused.

“What do you even know about family, bitch?” Jason mutters to her while they’re waiting outside, and the sting hurts as much as if she’d been the one to be slapped tonight.

“Not a thing and yet somehow more than you.”

Jason scoffs, and she sees Killian staring at her, his gaze so intense he could drill a hole on her head. She’s never told him anything about her time in foster homes, not more than possibly casually letting it slip, and she hopes that it’s not pity in his eyes. She can’t handle it if it is, so she makes sure to look away, training her gaze on the flickering neon light of the tattoo parlor across the street.

It’s another hour before Jason is loaded into the back of a cop car and her paperwork is all filled out so they can get their money back. Killian drives them back to Ruby’s apartment, dropping her off, before he drives them home, getting the best parking spot right next to the side entrance.

Bastard.

She never gets that spot. How the hell does he do that?

They’re silent as they walk up the stairs, her heels long gone and replaced with the slippers she brought with her, and by the time they’re standing in front of her apartment door, she’s exhausted, not wanting to think about anything.

“Thanks for tonight, Swan.”

“I should be thanking you. You’ve got a mean left hook.” She reaches down to grab his hand, running her fingers over the bruised knuckles. He hisses in response, his face contorted in pain. “You need to ice this.”

“Aye, but it seems I’ve given away my best icing steak.”

“Lucky for you I’ve got one.” She unlocks her door, having to kick it open with the rusty hinge, before stepping inside. “Come on.”

Killian follows her inside and to her freezer. She’s since invested in those nice ice packs, but after some rummaging, she finds Killian’s steak. It’s got to be freezer burned at this point, but it’ll work for her purposes. She smiles as she turns around, closing the door behind her, and holds the steak in the air.

“And I present to you, your best icing steak.”

“Bloody hell,” he laughs, his hair falling over his forehead, “I didn’t think you were serious. You didn’t cook this?”

“Nah, wasn’t ever in the mood. And it’s coming in handy now. Pun intended.”

“A regular comedian, love.”

“I know.” She hands it over to him before turning around and opening the door to ruffle around her freezer some more, finding a frozen pizza that should be edible. “You want something to eat? Pizza?”

“That sounds good.”

She pops the pizza in the oven, setting a timer on her phone, before she and Killian settle down onto her couch. It’s two in the morning at this point, most of the world asleep, and that makes it so much harder to find something on her cable package that’s not cartoons or infomercials. Eventually she gives up, leaving it on TCM, and falls back into the couch, the wine stain on her dress obvious.

“You a fan of old movies, love?”

“Sometimes. I think a lot of them are sexist as hell, but they’re kind of nice to watch on, like, a rainy day with all of the lights turned off and a cup of hot chocolate.”

“That sounds nice, Swan.”

Silence settles between them and while she’d usually let it, she feels far too uncomfortable about all of the events of tonight, so she changes the subject, trying to lessen whatever charge she feels in the room and fill the remaining space with conversation.

“Was that your first time ever punching someone?”

“Second,” he smiles, twisting his head to look at her, their noses barely an inch apart. She can feel the heat of his breath when he speaks. “Really? What was the first?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I really, really do.”

His lips fall into a straight line, and his hand finds its way to his ear, scratching at his scruff. “I, um, well my brother had just died, and I was drunk off my ass trying to cope. Got angry at a guy in a pub and his face kind of collided with my fist.”

Oh. Oh shit. That’s not what she was expecting. How the hell does she respond to that? How does anyone respond to that? How did he respond to losing his brother? Besides the punching because she just can’t…she can’t imagine loving someone and then losing them through death. Not at all. That would be heartbreaking.

She reaches over and takes his unharmed hand, squeezing and letting her fingers linger there. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

“About the punch?”

“About your brother. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“How could you? I don’t talk about it, and we aren’t exactly the best of friends.”

That stings. She didn’t…she wouldn’t have considered them friends three months ago, but she does now. He’s grown on her. Granted, it’s kind of been like a fungus, but he’s grown on her after spending so much time together. There’s only so much you can avoid while sitting in a cramped car. He’s playing down his feelings, his eyes glancing toward her before looking away. She’s learned to read him, and that’s definitely what’s happening. They’re not nothing. They definitely have something going on.

Is he…is he scared that she doesn’t think they’re friends or acquaintances or whatever they are? She doesn’t have a lot of friends, but she thinks that’s what this is.

“Hey now, we are friends, Killian Jones,” she assures him, leaning her head a bit closer to his and squeezing his hand again. His eyebrow quirks, something she’s learned is one of his ticks along with the stupid ear scratching he just did. “What? We are. We hang out. We talk.”

“I pay you for all of that.”

“That makes me sound like a prostitute.”

He shakes his head from side to side, smiling while his eyelashes hit against his cheeks. Is he…blushing? “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know.” She brings her bottom lip between her teeth, debating on whether she wants to say her thoughts of not. “But I bet we’d somehow get along even if you weren’t paying me.”

“We didn’t exactly get along before.”

“Yeah, well, you were a cocky asshole who played his music at all hours of the day and night. Now you’re a semi-friendly asshole who plays his music at all hours of the day and night.”

“Such a distinction.”

She laughs at his playful eye roll before releasing his hand and clapping her hand on his thigh, pushing herself off the couch and taking the frozen steak with her. “You want a drink?” He nods his head in acceptance. “Rum?”

She walks over to the kitchen, puts up the steak, checks on the pizza, and grabs two glasses from her cabinets and a bottle of rum that’s almost completely full. She doesn’t remember why she bought it. She’s not that much of a rum drinker, more of a whiskey and beer girl herself, but that doesn’t really matter now as she pours she and Killian a sizeable glass, the liquid burning as it travels down her throat.

It feels good relaxing after constantly working, and she slumps down on the couch next to Killian again, her dress riding up her thighs, before handing him his drink. She and Killian continue to talk, television shows and weird stories that seem to roll together without any awkward pauses now as they both continue to drink and eat the pizza. After awhile, a fire starts burning in her belly, her body warming and her senses dulling the slightest bit.

When she looks over to Killian his cheeks are flushed red and there’s the slightest bit of sweat framing his forehead, his hair pushed back from where he’s been running his fingers through it while he’s been rambling on and on about his first book tour and how he’d accidentally spilled his coffee on a young fan’s book and had to give her a new one only for her to request to keep the ruined one because it was coffee he was drinking.

“That’s fucking weird,” she snorts, rum practically coming out of her nose. “Who would want a ruined book like that just because you’d had some of the coffee on it?”

“This lass apparently,” he laughs, leaning forward and putting his hand on her knee, the heat of his palm seeping through her skin.

Everything is so warm, his hand, her skin, the room. She’s not drunk, but she’s definitely buzzed. And the buzzing is making Killian’s lips and the way he keeps running his tongue over them especially attractive, the pink a nice contrast to his black scruff. He probably tastes like rum, and she wants to taste it on his lips instead of in the glass.

So she does.

She grabs his shirt collar, pulling him forward and crashing her lips into his while her nose squishes against his face. He whines, the sound shooting straight to her core, before his hands harshly grip into her hair and his lips move against hers. He’s rough with her, the softness of his lips completely cancelled out by the harshness of his whiskers, and when she bites down on his bottom lip, hard, he emits a groan that comes from the very back of his throat before his tongue thrusts into her mouth with no preamble. It’s a hot, wet slide, the sensations shaking her and curling her toes.

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and mind, but then his lips are moving along her jaw and down her neck, landing at her collarbone and sucking a mark in her skin that’s going to stay longer than the wine stain on her dress.

Her dress that is far too constricting right now.

She moans when his hands start moving…everywhere, up and down her back until they’re on her thighs, under her dress and pulling it up until it gets stuck at her ass. She’s not at all responsible for what happens next and the way that her dress comes up her body to rest around her waist or the way Killian’s pants come undone and a condom from his wallet goes on while her underwear is slid to the side. And she’s definitely not at fault when she straddles Killian’s lap and rides him into oblivion. It’s rough and rushed and the basic definition of a quick fuck, but she doesn’t care. He’s filling her completely while his hands dig into her ass and his lips leave their mark against her skin.

“So bloody tight, Swan,” he grunts into her ear before slapping her ass. She has to hold onto the back of the couch with such force, her breasts pressed against Killian’s chest while she moves above him. “Feels so good fucking you, being inside of you.”

“Shut up.” She moves her lips to his to get him to be quiet, their groans mixing together until there’s not another sound in the room and her eyes begin to have black spots behind them, the humming of her body at a high while Killian pulses inside of her. She comes on a shuddering breath, the unexpected quickness making it all the more intense, and she’s so gone that she doesn’t feel anything but her trembling legs.

Afterward she rests on top of him still, catching her breath, and before he can even pull out of her, she realizes her mistake.

“That was…”

“A one-time thing.” She moves so that he slips out of her before pulling her dress down to cover her. “You can go home now. There’s a trashcan by the front door.”

She doesn’t look at his face, shame rushing over her, but in the brief moment before she looked away, she saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes before there was a clench in his jaw. She hears his pants being zipped and his breathing settle before he grumbles under his breath.

“As you wish.”

That night she falls asleep in her wine-stained sex-mused dress without removing her makeup or brushing her hair. Except she never really falls asleep. She stays awake and lets her mind run through…everything. She can’t believe she slept with Killian. How could she be so stupid? Why did she even want to sleep with him?

She fucked up, and she has no idea how to fix it. She has no idea if she even wants to fix it. This isn’t what she does. She doesn’t sleep with people she has to see the next day, and she sure as hell doesn’t sleep with anyone who she knows as much as she knows Killian, who she may have some kind of feelings for. They all just leave anyways, and he may be just next door, but he won’t always be. He can’t be. He can afford a nicer place, one across the city with a doorman and an elevator. He’s not going to stay. This is all temporary, just like him spending time with her most days in their ride-a-longs. It’s not going to last.

It’s too much. It’s all too much, and if she could go back in time two hours, she thinks she would.

While suffering through her misery, the hangover already starting to set in, she expects music to blare through the wall, some kind of anger writing coming from Killian.

But the music never comes.

And it doesn’t come the next day.

Or the next.

She doesn’t hear any music blaring from Killian’s apartment for days on end. In fact, if she counts correctly, she doesn’t hear any music from Killian’s apartment for twenty two days, and despite having the opportunity to sleep peacefully for the first time in years, she can’t.

She picks up his books a couple of times, thinking about rereading them, but instead she puts the latest one away in her bedside drawer, slamming it shut and electing not to look at anything that reminds her of Killian.

She does her stakeouts and honey traps and research alone. It’s something she did alone for half a decade, but she hasn’t worked alone in months, not since late-November. But it’s March now, almost April really, the weather blustering outside and the snow beginning to melt into rain, and she’s all alone.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ruby asks her one day, tossing her burger wrapper in her direction. It lands on her stomach, and she simply brushes it off into the trash can next to her desk and continues eating while filing her paperwork online. “Are you just not going to talk now?”

“Nope.”

“Someone peed in your Cheerios. Tell me so I can go kick their ass and get you out of this funk.”

“No one peed in my Cheerios. Just busy doing work and eating. Not a lot of time for talking.”

It’s the truth, but it’s also a lie. She could talk, but she just doesn’t want to. She’s not in the mood. She wants to do her work, eat her food, and go home to the silence.

“Emma, seriously,” Ruby coaxes, her voice suddenly soft, “are you okay?”

She plasters a smile on her face before looking up at Ruby over the top of the computer. “I’m fine. You want to go out tonight?”

“To work or to drink?”

“Drink.”

They go to the bar around the corner from her apartment, walking into the dull wood-paneled room with its dim lights and smell of cigarettes and alcohol. It’s the perfect place to drink and not be bothered, which along with it being in walking distance from her apartment, makes it somewhere she frequents. But of course tonight being a night she wants to be left alone, to drink a few bottles of beer and talk (maybe) to Ruby, there’s a guy that comes up and slides onto the stool next to her.

He’s handsome, but it’s not right. His hair is too light and too curly, while his eyes are green instead of…blue. The scruff in his face is more like a beard, and his accent, well, there’s really not one. He just sounds normal. There’s no smooth velvet British accent, no dulcet tones that make her skin prickle when an innuendo spills from his tongue. And while she doesn’t know, doesn’t have any interest in finding out, she knows his lips won’t feel right either.

“Hey, buddy,” she stops him in the middle of his sentence, knowing it’s rude, “I really appreciate you coming to talk to me, but I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

“Oh,” he gasps, his wide eyes suddenly straightening and slimming, “well you could have told me that before I put in the effort.”

“I didn’t ask you to talk to me.”

He gets up from the stool, cursing her under his breath, but she doesn’t care. Ruby whistles, the sound reverberating throughout the room. “Damn girl. Why don’t you just bite off his head? It’d be less painful.”

“He was an asshole.”

“He was okay, Ems.”

“He was nice until I shut him down, which always shows a guy’s true colors. You ask them to respect your personal space and they just run away. Always running away.”

She takes a sip of her beer, the liquid coating her throat while condensation falls off the bottle and she blocks everything out but the broken bottle on the top shelf in front of her.

“So what exactly did Killian do to make you so doom and gloom?”

“Why would Killian have any power over me?”

“Because you like him.”

“I do not.”

“Bullshit.” She glances over toward Ruby then, and all of Ruby’s features are focused on her. “That’s bullshit, Emma. You live in the land of being alone except for me and Granny. And yeah, I know you have a fucked up past. We all do. If anything I’ve googled about Killian is right, he does too.”

“Rubes…”

“No, let me finish. You are not a sunshine and roses kind of girl. You’re moonlight and overgrown weeds, but there are people who prefer the night and love the wildness of the weeds. I have never seen you happier than you have been the past few months and whether you like it or not, Killian is part of that.”

“I don’t need a man to make me happy.”

“No, no you don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that he does. So tell me, what the hell could he have done that was so bad that you’ve been moping around like this for nearly a month?”

She sighs, closing her eyes before opening and looking Ruby dead on. “We fucked.”

“Did you not want to? Is that what the problem is because I’ll kick his ass and chop off his balls.”

“No, I wanted to,” she explains, waving Ruby away before she goes and murders Killian. “We were buzzed, leaning a bit toward drunk, and it just happened. I’m pretty sure I started it. And then I told him to get out. Haven’t heard from him since.”

Ruby’s hand reaches over to hers, holding her palm in between her hands. “Emma, you hurt his feelings. The guy is head over heels for you, he finally gets to be with you, and then you kick him out. I’m not saying you have to go running into his arms or anything, but he probably deserves an apology, for you to talk to him instead of ignoring him. And you probably deserve to realize that you deserve more than sleazy guys hitting on you in bars on a Tuesday.”

“When did you become an expert on feelings?”

“I’m not. Just an expert on my best friend.”

Emma smiles then, the corners of her lips twitching up, before she leans forward and embraces Ruby, holding her as tightly as possible. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to finish drinking with you,” she answers, determined to forget about Killian for a night and focus on spending time with her best friend. “That’s all I can do right now, okay?”

She falls asleep that night a little easier than she has been, and when she wakes at ten the next morning, she’s not nearly as groggy as she usually is. Getting out of bed, she stretches her arms out and accidentally knocks against the wall.

Shit.

Her body freezes in its spot, fear coursing through her as she waits for any response. A knock. Some music. His voice.

She doesn’t hear anything, and that nearly breaks her. Everything Ruby said last night was right. She likes Killian, and that’s exactly why she pushed him away. Stupid, stupid girl.

Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, she purposely bangs on the wall before grabbing her phone and blaring whatever first pops up on Spotify until she hears a muffled curse and a slammed door. There you go, Killian. A smile breaks out across her face that only increases when she hears a similar banging on her front door.

It takes less time than usual for her to walk the few steps and unbolt the locks, swinging the door open to Killian’s scowling face. “Bloody hell, woman. Would you politely stop the damn music?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” he scowls, everything about his demeanor angry and annoyed and just how she thought it would be. God, she’s missed him. “It’s early, I’m sleeping, and I don’t want to hear any of that crap.”

“You haven’t been playing your music.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, his mouth gaping open before closing while he furiously blinks. “W-what?”

“You haven’t played your music in twenty-three days.”

“So?”

“That means you haven’t been writing. Why?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t felt like it. I’ve lost the muse lately.”

She takes a few steps forward, ending up with her toes nearly touching his bare feet and her forehead at his nose. “Killian, I’m so sorry that I kicked you out like that.” “Swan, it’s fine.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “It was nothing.”

Liar.

“It’s not. You’re not a random guy. You’re a friend…okay, you’re more than a friend, and I treated you like shit. That’s not okay, and I’m sorry.”

He chuckles before running his hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling. “Love. I am thirty-four years old, and I have never been this confused by a woman in my life. You’re bloody infuriating.”

“I know.” She chuckles under her breath before reaching out and tentatively touching his wrist, testing the water between them. “And you probably hate me for it.”

“No,” Killian answers, her heartrate picking up to ridiculous levels, “I don’t. I like you, love, have for quite awhile now, and I’d give anything in the world to get a chance to be with you without one of us running away or following the other at work. I quite fancy you, Emma Swan, even though I really want to yell at you.”

“I quite fancy you too.”

“Good.” He smiles before taking a step forward and closing the door behind him. “Now that we have that settled there’s several things that I’d like to do with you in the next hour.”

With that he surges forward and cups the back of her head, pulling her lips into his and devouring her while their hips push together. It’s much more intense than last time, not a one of her senses dulled by alcohol or lack of sleep, so she can feel every inch of him pressing against her while her hands find his back and just try to feel every inch of covered skin until they’re slipping under his t-shirt.

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and she can barely catch her breath. Her eyes flutter up and find blue staring down at her.

“Please don’t make me go, Swan.”

“I won’t. I’m not…I’m not good at this, but I want to try. God help me, but I want to try.”

“Are you sure?” he pleads, his eyes searching hers for something. “You have to be sure.”

She doesn’t hesitate to answer though her voice does shake a bit. “I’m sure.”

She squeals when Killian’s arms pick her up, literally sweeping her off her feet and walking her to her bedroom, kicking the door closed and dropping her on the bed so that her squeal is even louder, echoing throughout the room while the mattress bounces underneath her and she tries to catch the breath that was knocked out of her. When she looks up, he’s staring at her, eyes somehow hungry and dark with desire as well as dancing in amusement. She doesn’t know what to do, how to feel. She wants him, but she also wants to be with him, to walk the tentative tightrope of whatever it is they’re doing beyond sex.

Before she can move, he leans down, propping his hands on either side of her shoulders and caging her in. She expects him to kiss her, but he doesn’t, not in the way she was anticipating it. His teeth drag against her exposed collarbone, tongue trailing right behind them, and she gasps out his name with surprising fervor while his teeth and whiskers burn her. Her hands find his back, nails digging into the material of his t-shirt, and that only pushes him further, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat while their hips press together, moans escaping them both.

She smiles when his lips find hers, the heat in her belly calming for a moment before he bites her bottom lip and she allows their tongues to curl together. Then it all comes back in a blazing inferno, every inch of her skin heating the more they press themselves together.

“Killian,” she breathes, pulling back from him only for him to press several quick pecks against her lips, making the room lighter than it has been.

“I want you,” he mutters, trailing more hot kisses against her jaw before licking into her mouth, making her toes curl again and again.

“Have me,” she sighs before laughing, “did I really just say that?”

Killian smirks against her skin before his hands find their way under her shirt, trailing up until he ghosts over the swell of her breasts, her lack of bra making everything heightened. His hands are gentle but rough, callouses he’s likely formed from writing with pen and paper when he gets ideas instead of on his laptop covering them, and she whimpers when the pads of his thumb and forefingers find her nipples, bringing them to straining peaks.

“Your breasts are glorious, and I’ve never even seen them.”

Killian is full of the cheesy lines this morning, but apparently she is too.

“Would you like to?”

His eyebrow quirks, practically reaching his forehead, and she knows the answer to that is yes. So she inches backward, letting Killian move back from her, before lifting her shirt over her head, the coolness of the air far outweighed by the heat of his gaze. He studies her as if he’s studying a text, his eyes tracing every inch of her skin while his palms test the weight of her breasts. His touch is as intoxicating as his voice, and her core flutters in anticipation.

Then his lips are on her skin and he bites down against a nipple, teasing her and causing her body to switch between pain and pleasure, never quite sure what she wants. She thinks she just wants it all.

It’s overwhelming the way she feels him everywhere when all of his intentions are focused on her breasts, pushing her into the mattress, and she has to run her fingers through his hair to find some kind of steadiness, holding him to her skin until he starts moving down her body, tongue tracing her freckles while his erection presses against her thigh through his pajama pants. Yeah, this is already a million times better than last time even with the bit of morning breath and newness of them to each other.

His fingers hook into her pajama shorts, pulling them down and off of her body all the while he kisses down her calf, lingering at her ankle before moving up and hovering above her core, his breath hot over her flesh.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping down and pressing a kiss to her mound.

Her back arches off the bed, he smirks, and she snarks, “if you think a vagina is pretty to look at then you’ve got some issues, bud.”

Killian laughs against her skin, his chest rolling and the vibrations reaching her, before his fingers find her flesh, swiping through and gathering the wetness that’s pooled there. It’s – fuck – it’s good, the foreplay not something they did in their jumbled, buzzed mess, but then he slides a finger into her while his thumb finds her clit and she’s flying.

Or almost flying. She’s not quite that keyed up, but she is when Killian continues to curl his fingers inside of her while he moves up the mattress to kiss her again. Then she’s flying and there’s black spots behind her eyes and she can’t breathe from the way her breath catches in her throat and everything stills for just a few seconds.

But then she comes back to herself, and she can feel the way that sweat has beaded at her forehead and how her thighs feel slightly sticky while Killian hovers above her smiling.

“What?” she laughs, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. “Why do you look so stupid?”

“Tis nothing. You’re just glorious like that, your cheeks flushed and lips pink while you scream out my name.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Shut up,” she scoffs, pushing him off of her before sticking her hands into the waistband of his pants, his tattoo sticking out the slightest bit, “and take off these damn pants.”

“You’re so romantic, darling.”

Her hand brushes over his obvious erection, and he hisses, his teeth clenched and his face scrunched in pain. She feels satisfaction, but she also feels desire, wanting him to be inside of her just this second. “Are you telling me you don’t want to fuck me, Killian Jones? Because we need to do that. I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much during sex,” she tugs at his pants again until his cock emerges and brushes over his ink, “and I’d like some of this.”

He pounces on her then, crushing his mouth to her as he pushes her into the mattress, his body absolutely everywhere. There are words mumbled about protection, and Killian grabs the condom from her beside drawer, taking a little bit too long but then he’s sliding into her in one smooth movement. Fuck. He’s heavy and thick, dragging against her walls in the best way possible as her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders and her feet wrap around his ass, pushing him further into her so they both groan. He begins moving within her, soft and slow thrusts, while his tongue lavishes her breasts, teasing her as they get into a rhythm.

“Killian,” she whines as he rolls his hips, deep and hard, at the same time that he bites down. “Oh, Killian, fuck, that’s good.”

“You’re so fucking tight, squeezing me. This is incredible. You’re incredible.”

He mumbles the words against her breasts before moving up and murmuring more into the skin of her neck. But then he’s kissing her while moving inside of her, their chests heaving together and everything simply feeling right, muscle strains disappearing in the ecstasy of it all. She knew this time would be different than the first. It’s not a drunken hookup, but that’s not the only difference. She feels connected to him somehow and more than just because they’re physically intertwined. It’s like she’s drowning in him, in this, and Killian’s the one with the life raft.

Yeah, she’s definitely been spending too much time with him if she’s thinking like that.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments on a shaky exhale before the slow movements increase and he’s fucking her into the mattress, hard and fast as his thumb moves against her clit, “and so bloody frustrating.”

She’s not – he’s not…she doesn’t have any words, so she uses her mouth to bite into his collarbone like he did to her earlier, digging into his skin and using her heels to make himself bury into her further, feeling her completely. He’s filthy with his whispers, murmuring things like you’re so wet, I want to fuck you forever, and a man could live within you and never tire. The last one makes her laugh while also gasping into an orgasm that overwhelms her, the breath in her chest escaping her while small pinpricks dance across her skin. He fucks her through it, his words coming out on stuttered groans, before he gently pushes into over and over and over again, coming inside of her in a way that makes her eyes close again in the bliss of it all.

When it’s over, she’s spent, and she tries to catch her breath, letting Killian rest on top of her and just drinking it all in.

Yeah, so maybe her neighbor isn’t so bad after all. (And she’s entirely surprised that the Crashing Waves books aren’t absolutely filthy with the way he speaks.)

“You know, love,” Killian whispers sometime later, her curtains closed to block out the light while her nails trace the hair on his chest. “I found something interesting in that drawer of yours.”

“Hmm, I don’t think my vibrator is really all that interesting.”

“No,” he laughs, leaning forward and pressing several lingering kisses against her cheeks, “but Crashing Waves is.”

Oh shit. Oh my God. The book. His books. She’d…she hid the last one in her bedside drawer when they weren’t speaking, and he saw it. He saw it when he went for the condom. She risks looking at him, and he’s absolutely smirking, his eyebrows dancing across his forehead.

Yeah, so he’s still a little bit of that same asshole.

Good. She’s not sure what she’d do without his snarky comments and quick wit. She’s really come to like them as much as she likes him.

“Oh my God, you saw that?” She slaps his shoulder before burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex. “You weren’t supposed to ever see that.”

He laughs against the crown of her head while his hand rubs up and down her bare back, fingers trailing into her hair. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of my work, darling.”

She pulls back then, smiling up and him and appreciating the lightness of his gaze. “What are you talking about? I’m a fan of every part of you.”

She kisses him then, soft and sweet and everything.

It’s only later, after a few more rounds that have her spent and after a hell of a lot more talking, when Killian gasps, “we should have played music, love.

I will admit that my books are more about mystery, action, and drama than romance, but I’m also aware that the romance between Connor and Kate is a reason I have so many dedicated fans. I’m sad to say, however, that I fear I have done them an injustice. No, nothing horribly bad will happen between them – if Connor recovers from where we left off mind you – but I’ve written this great love only to find out it’s not so great.

You see, I met a woman recently. Well, not so much recently. We’ve known each other for quite a bit, and I’ve always been infatuated and enamored by her even if she despised me. She’s bloody brilliant in every way possible, and I’ve been able to really and truly discover that as I’ve slowly and surely gotten to know her over the past few years. And I tell you this and tell you that I’ve not written a great love story because she’s taught me what great love actually is.

It’s passionate and messy while also being altogether simple and boring. She riles me up and calms me down all in a five-minute span, and whenever I think I know what’s going to happen next, she surprises me. You see, I love her with every fiber of my being and nothing in my life has ever been so painful and thrilling all at once. It’s wonderful, and I hope that all of you experience a great love one day. This one is it for me. There will never be anything like it.

So to my love, my Emma, my wife, thank you, darling. You push me to be my best, and this book would not be possible without you.

Seriously.

It is you, after all, who inspired me and taught me that even those things we think are impossible may very well be possible. After all, you love me.

Killian Jones

Husband, Soon-to-be father, Honorable Bail Bondsperson, Amateur DJ, and Author.

[finderskeepersff]

38. Part 2

Wrapping this thin piece of cloth around my shoulders, I do think how I get myself in these situations but it gets me so angry because I didn’t do anything. They wouldn’t let me have my phone call, I couldn’t sleep in this hell because dickheads were shouting to get out constantly and this piece of cloth doesn’t warm shit, they were so fucking quick to take my clothes off me, they hate me and I hate them. I am trying so hard to be good, I just want to be good and I can’t because nobody will let me. Hearing a tap on the door “Mr Warren” the flap opened “your phone call” it’s like six in he morning I am guessing and they talking about phone call “my girl will be asleep!? You joking me?” they are trying to be funny “take it or leave it!” he spat, kissing my teeth standing up pushing the blanket they call on the floor “bring your arms out” acting like I could run out of this bitch “sure” I mumbled, holding my arms out “your extradition will be today” feeling the cuffs go around my wrists, bringing my arms in “not every drug dealer gets away with murder, you know” he opened the door “prove it” I retorted “I am up here and you’re down here to me, respect me!” I will remember this motherfucker “move!” he spat, a simple gang shoot out and he dies would be fine. He grabbed my upper arm “you got two minutes, as soon as I hear that mouth open” I swear, I will get this nigga. Black officers be the worst to their own, fucked up shit.

Pressing the phone to my ear as it rang out, knowing Sofia she will be awake. Maybe I am wrong and she is actually asleep because this is just ringing out, they ain’t about to let me do another number “hello?” I breathed out, she picked up and I am happy to hear her voice “it’s me, I know it’s early. They erm, wouldn’t let me ring any earlier. I miss you already” I know she got some sleep, her voice sounds sleepy “I waited for you to call, I must have fell asleep waiting. I just felt my phone vibrating, oh my god. Are you ok? They really not releasing you, Cassius I gave them footage of you at home, I prove you’re here Cassius and they are just thinking I am crazy. I am trying” I smiled lightly “I appreciate and they ain’t about to let me go, you have copies. I may need to get a lawyer because they speaking on taking me to Brooklyn today. Just don’t worry about me, I will be ok. Just please tell my mom and I will try and call you. I miss you so much” I want to be with Sofia so much “I miss you too, why didn’t you ever tell me about you speaking to my mom? You was in contact with her and never said Cassius? Kyle has been telling me because I want to speak to her, this is wrong. She needs to stop” Kyle and his big mouth “I wanted to do something nice for you but I guess not, I don’t want you worrying. I am ok, they got nothing on me. Just relax, stop trying to figure on how to get me out” I chuckled “I can’t help it, I want to help you. I don’t want you to go to Brooklyn” looking to the side of me, the office got in my eye view “I know, just hold tight. I love you, I have to go now” if he hangs my call I will flip “I love you too, I am thinking of you. Love you” I knew it, I knew he would it “times up” he grabbed the phone from me, I was going to go crazy but I need to get out and they want me to go crazy.

Smiling at Olivia, she has found Cassius chains and watch collection “I don’t mean to pry, like Kenton was saying it to me. I didn’t think, he actually said Lloyd told him that Cassius is part of the Cartel, I was like does that nigga look Mexican to you? I know he light skinned but no. I been knew, I mean like Mia said. I don’t care because he is good to you, he makes you happy and he makes us happy. He respects us but I hate seeing the worry in your face, it’s funny because you would always try to hide the fact he had money and doing things he shouldn’t and we all knew. Kenton was like, he is a good man and that is it” I smiled at her “he has a good heart too, this is why I was like I am minding my business. We didn’t didn’t speak on this, I didn’t even know Olivia knew! But I was so done with her acting dumb” Mia said, shaking my head laughing at these two “but let me put this back, let’s go down and start preparing for the wedding” Olivia placed his chain back “I don’t want too, I need to clean the home. I don’t know why I fell asleep” rubbing my face walking out of the walk in closet “no need, you slept and we cleaned what we could. We just hope it’s how you like” turning to my friends in shock “what?” I didn’t know “we cleaned, come. You just come down with us and we can start planning” I am shook, I didn’t ask them to clean for me “I don’t deserve any of you” Olivia placed her arm around me walking.

“So you both spoke?” Olivia asked “we did, it was quick because he cut it short” hearing the buzzer go off “least you both spoke, I will get that” Mia said walking towards the door, I was about to get up but Mia is already up “it hurts me so much, to know he is in there because of me. He spoke on his brother being a bad omen but look at me. I just feel like he will hate me for it, I am just so hurt. Like what the fuck what is happening with Leyton? I feel I need to speak to her but nobody will allow it” I am stressing “well Lucas, he will be down where you are. You’re going to allow him to be extradited for what!?” Kyle walked in with the phone on his ear “hey Sofia” Myles said behind him “hi” I said in a whisper “these are like twins, it’s cute” Olivia pointed at them, I smiled a little because she is not wrong “Lucas, you get a lot of money. You get him out, I can send you the footage. He didn’t even do it, they are sending him to Brooklyn for nothing? How you going to call me with shit like that? There is nothing on him!? Come on” Kyle is angry, I don’t blame him because I am too but I am more hurt.

Kyle disconnected the call mean mugging the ground “what he say?” Myles asked him “he said let them bring him to Brooklyn, I am not that nigga. I don’t trust them niggas at all, what if they try and jump him while in handcuffs? I mean come on, all they need is some nigga that don’t like him, set him up” my face softened “just relax yeah” Myles said to Kyle “sorry” Kyle quickly said “my bad, Cassius will be leaving at twelve” I am scared now “someone is going to hurt Cassius?” I said in a whisper “no, I am just speaking out loud. Nothing to worry about” Kyle laughed nervously “we know where he is leaving from, we going to watch them with him but it should be ok” shaking my head “I am going Brooklyn, after what you said. I am not staying here!” getting up from the couch “Sofia, you should stay here!” Mia spat “yeah you need too” Kyle said “make me!” I shouted at Kyle.

“Cassius will fucking kill us” Myles said in a whisper “this is so fun, like do you boys do stake outs like this?” Olivia asked, I made them take us. I am not playing “not exactly, I mean in the night yes” Myles answered “oohhh that is mysterious” side eyeing Olivia “are you single?” Myles asked but I cleared my throat “everyone is spoken for in this car, so now what happens?” we are parked outside the fucking police station “they should be bringing Cassius out, I want to see if they are just taking him or will he be with someone” I am so scared for Cassius, what is Kyle even thinking. I am so confused, why does Kyle think this. He is making me worry now, I don’t like this at all. What if someone harms him like Kyle is thinking “so is this where they bring the people out?” Olivia asked “yeah, you see that car. They will put Cassius in that, I got a call saying it is at this time. Wait a minute, look there” it’s really hard to see, we are so far away seeing this “where am I looking?” I asked “the officers walking out, you see how many they got? It’s like they don’t trust Cassius” I think I see it now, I don’t know what the fuck I am seeing at all “he coming out” do I have bad eyes “oh wow, I can see” Mia spat, I gasped “where!?” I shouted, Mia moved my head to the side a little “there, in grey. He is climbing into the van” oh my god that is him “Kyle get him out” my poor baby, look at him, my heart is in there.

I only saw Cassius with his head down but I am not liking this, I don’t like it “can you like take us to a deal? Can you show us this?” Olivia is on some crack “we have a warehouse here” Myles said “you do?” Cassius never said “we do yes, it’s brand new. We starting off new here, we got some old workers here. It’s dope, Cassius was probably stressing about shit, there been a lot going on with him you know. Y’all can see if you want? I mean shit, we get them here” Cassius would kills us, they are right “that’s not safe” I mumbled “it’s fine, nobody knows right?” Myles said to Kyle “nobody knows yet, it’s ok. We need to go there anyways, you boss anyways Sofia. You tell us” Kyle looked at me laughing “I am nothing thanks, I just want to go Brooklyn, I want to know what they will be doing to my man?” that is all I care about “we are dealing with that, if you want to go to Brooklyn I will get you a ticket but what about your friends?” looking at them both “we can stay here, I mean you will be back” Kyle is right, what about these two “Cassius said you should be planning for a wedding, and you’re not” look at Mia making me remember.

Myles is trying to impress Olivia and I don’t like it at all “so what does this warehouse do?” I asked, I don’t get it “drugs, and things” it looks empty “stick by us” I don’t even want to be here at all but I guess so “this is so fun!” Olivia spat, getting out of the car. Fixing my dress as I did “it’s filthy” I complained “and it’s dead” walking around the car, it’s run down too. The door opened and some guy appeared out of nowhere with a gun, I near peed myself “you bought us some bitches?” he said “you might want to reword that” Kyle said walking by him “uh, oh yeah. Sorry, come in” walking by him “that is what we thought!” Olivia spat “watch your step” Kyle said holding his hand out to me, holding his hand as I got down on the step “so yeah, it looks like shit but it’s meant to look that way, then you go through here” there is a lot of men here, another guy opened the door “this is the magic land” this is a whole different place “is this like the same place?” I asked “it is yes, we spend a lot of money to make sure it looks like a shit place but it’s not. So yeah, this is the warehouse” seeing Wheezy walk over to me “oh wow, the queen visiting us. Why didn’t you say. This is Cassius wife, you all see that. Are you here to tell us what to do?” I am so overwhelmed “uhm no, I am just here by chance” shaking my head “is boss ok?” nodding my head “Wheezy, get me that bag. We need to you know call in extra help. Get him out” I have seen Cassius drug place, I have seen it with my own eyes.

It’s a weird feeling that I am not so used too, all of these men looked at me and then looked away. I actually felt respected and it was weird “oh my god, Sofia, ask the guy at the door his name. He called us bitches, oh my god do it” Olivia is being stupid, seeing him open the door for us to leave “do it” Olivia said again “what is your name?” I asked him “me?” he asked, his gun is huge, I ain’t see that before “yes, you?” looking to the side of me and Kyle just stood smiling “Nitti” pulling a face “your actual name?” what a weird name “Nathaniel” nodding my head “I didn’t mean to say bitch, I didn’t see you. Cassius is a boss and I wouldn’t fuck with the boss either, I am sorry” I have men apologising “calm down” Kyle laughed “come on Sofia” Kyle moved me along, it’s a weird feeling to have, to be respected and that is because of Cassius “why do they respect me?” I had to ask “you are the boss, Cassius keeps you high and they know. On a normal day I wouldn’t bring any of you, this is nothing. We just starting off. Cassius will not be happy either way” Cassius won’t be “it’s an amazing life” I sighed out, Olivia is just so dumb and then she says that.

I am so fucking tired, I have not even got to see my lawyer they have dragged me from one place to another and now I am in an interview room in Brooklyn. I can’t ring anybody or speak to anybody and it’s driving me crazy, they got me chained to this desk. I haven’t had a fucking cigarette yet, I am going crazy. I jumped hearing the buzzer go off, it’s been so silent here for an hour I would say or maybe more. The door opened, looking behind “I should have known” I sighed out looking ahead of me, the two bitches. The two bitches that are making sure they make my life hell, no matter what. These bitches are investigating me, they want to gather enough evidence to detain me “I want my lawyer” I said simply “Cassius, come on now” Kalia said, she said on the table. Sitting back on the chair and pushing my chair back “I don’t bite now” I don’t want this bitch near me “it’s a nasty smell you see” I am so done with these bitches “you clearly doing underhand interview again, record this. What you doing huh? Where is my lawyer, you know I am not supposed to be here. You know this and this is why you are keeping me here” I spat “your lawyer thinks you are in Atlanta still, he came. So Cassius, who is Grace Bundy huh? Being lazy now” shaking my head “if you want to suck my dick then let me know, you have a real obsession with me Kalia, the sexual tension is there. You want a bad nigga” she is getting on my nerves “Cassius you are here for murder, help us and we can help you” Ann said, staring at Kalia “how much you get paid to be a snitch” I sniggered “help us and you can help me? Right, I rather you kill me here then tell any of you anything. Now get my lawyer, y’all in deep shit having me here” they trying to play a game “if you tell us who the big boss is with the Latinos, I can let you walk away now. I just need his name” I ain’t saying shit “it will be a long night for you Cassius, your lawyer thinks you’re not here. We have twenty four hours, no phone calls either” they think that will break me “a little quiet over there Kalia” I think she likes me.

[ginasneesby]

New Zealand 2018 - first week

So I did it, I planned to move to New Zealand for a year and I actually did it. The last thing that I decided I wanted to do and actually did was to start tap dancing when I was 15 so it's only taken me another 14 years to achieve something I said I was going to do. Obviously, that doesn't include uni and London etc because that was a natural step, this is so far away from my normal life it's a little scary but I'm also very excited for what the year will hold.

I flew on the evening of the 9th of January and was escorted to the airport by my parents, my sister and my two best girls. We had a meal and a drink, I was given some lovely presents and then I made them leave me so I could go sit at the gate and not make a big scene in the departure lounge. I'm going to miss everyone like crazy but I hope travelling and having new experiences will fill that gap; at least a little. My first flight was about 14 hours long, luckily I had nobody sitting next to me so I had a bit of room, but I was also trying to stay awake this journey to try and get on the right time so I watched films for most of the flight and didn't mind being in one seat and up right. Of all the films I watched Deepwater Horizon was probably the best one it made me forget that I was on a plane which is always good when you're sat down for so freaking long. I stopped off in Manila for 3 or so hours, it wasn't too bad although it's a weird feeling to be tired so you want to sit down but also want to do anything but sit down because that's all you've done for the last day and will do again for the next 10 hours. There is also absolutely fuck all to do, so I spent my time listening to sense and sensibility on Audible, I wish I downloaded a better book. The next flight was 10 hours I was in the middle of 4 and every seat was taken and I noticed there was no entertainment system in front of me. Ho Ly Shit!! Luckily my plan was to sleep for most of this flight, I managed about 5 hours having had a little kip on the first flight, but that still meant 4 hours until we landed with no films to watch and nothing downloaded as I have no memory. I can't tell you the last time I cycled through Candy Crush, Angry Birds and other such games for such a long time all while listening to Jane Austen. It was a very boring few hours, but I made it! I landed, collected my bags, got through immigration and customs and after a desperate cigarette got a shuttle which took me straight to the door of my Airbnb in Grafton. I was determined not to ruin the good work I had done on the plane so even though I was pretty tired I went out for a walk found the local supermarket and bought a few things for dinner. It's quite an experience walking around a supermarket hungry and jetlagged, you can't make any decisions on what you want to eat but you kind of want everything, after I walked home with the food I then wasn't hungry at all so I had a few chips and dip and went to sleep. I woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning really hungry so ate a little something, luckily I managed to go back to sleep easily and woke up at a more reasonable time.

My first job was to try and find a car, I had a budget of about $2,000 which is about £1100, it didn't have to be anything spectacular it just had to last me a year! Maybe I was looking in the wrong place but nobody really had cars for that price, they were all a lot more expensive, one dealer did have a car in that price range, it was a bit older than I would have wanted but I thought I'll have a look and take it for a drive, however he came back to tell me but they'd actually lost the keys about a month ago. Good work guys. So a bit deflated and a bit sunburnt, why did no one tell me it was going to be so hot! I trekked back to my Airbnb stopping at a pub, an Irish pub obvs, and then decided to go to an off licence to buy some more beer and try to salvage the day. That's always the best thing to do when you're worried about how much to spend on a car, right? Spend it on beer instead and then the issue is gone. I have to say I did have a lovely evening sitting by myself, on the deck, in the sun, getting slightly tipsy and watching comedy programmes on Netflix (Jess is a life saver!) Although I was slightly surprised, it being Friday night that no one else in the Airbnb appeared or even came to say hello, luckily it wasn't my proper accommodation; that would be really sucky.

The next day I had arranged a number of viewings for places to live, the first one although a nice room was living with a family which I didn't realise, yeah no thanks. The next one was quite nice but unfurnished and quite a long way from any shops or pubs, it was on a highway which would be really helpful to get to work but not so fun when you have to drive everywhere. Also some of the neighbours have swimming pools which the girls who lived there said was actual torture on hot days; however it was still top of my list. The third one was a small room which didn't even fit the bed in and there was only one bathroom between me and two boys, it was also upstairs so I would have had to trek through the house if I needed a wee at night. There was also the slight problem of both boys being vegan, yeah no thanks. I had a few more viewings the next day so I wasn't too worried although it's always slightly nerve-racking when other people have viewed, if they didn't pick me, I may have been forced to live somewhere awful. That evening I have plans to go to dinner with my two aunts who came to New Zealand that day and we're heading down to Queenstown to see my cousin play in the under 19 England cricket World Cup team, of all the places in the world it could have been held, it was here. It was very nice to see some familiar faces and actually talk to some people as I haven't really done that for a few days unless I was buying something. We went to a really nice Thai restaurant called Saan where they recommend you buy the large dishes and share them, we shared some starters and have some smaller dishes to ourselves and were absolutely stuffed, whether that's portion size or jet lag I don't know, either way they paid and I was home by about 9:30 and ready for bed.

Sunday morning and I was getting up at 7 o'clock, unthinkable, but I had a viewing and a carfair to get to, this was going to be my best shot at finding a car for the right price. The viewing before was a nice place with one lady, she liked feeding the pigeons outside her front door which meant that they gathered there and harassed you, and she listened to country and western music... for fun. But the place was nice enough, not too expensive and I wouldn't have to buy a bed which was a big plus, she also give me a lift down to the fair which was about 5 minutes away so I wouldn't be late. She had only shown around one other person and would prefer me so she didn't have to live with a guy; so she went to the top of my list. The car fair was a massive success, they had a whole section for under $5,000 and I saw quite a few around 2000, although was quite surprised to see some very old cars(1994) hoping to get 3 and a half to 4, wishful thinking guys. I'd be interested to know if they sold for when I come to resell my car, I think I could get more for it then I paid, especially as the registration only has to be renewed yearly because it's from 2000; apparently backpackers like this and so are willing to pay slightly more. The guy selling the car told me it have broken down recently and so he had bought another car in the meantime and then fixed the problem so he just wanted to get rid of it, he was selling it for 1250. So not only was it a lot cheaper than most of the other cars it had recently been serviced and old bits replaced for new, we took it out onto the highway to check it would go up to 100 kilometres an hour without exploding and when I was satisfied, and the check came back saying it wasn't stolen and there were no massive debts on it, I bought it!!! My only issue is that it's automatic and only 1.3 l engine, not great for a country with lots of big hills, but I'm pretty much used to it already, there wasa bit of toing and froing changing the owner as I had an international licence and then sending the money as I didn't bring my card reader with me and didn't have data yet, but eventually we sorted it out and I came back home. Adulting level one succeeded. My last viewing was up on the north shore near the hospital that I'm going to be working at, this meant crossing the Harbour Bridge with the amazing view of Auckland CBD that I remember from 10 years ago. The place is setback in the bush and down a wicked driveway that reminds me of a holiday home we once had in France, you don't want to stall on that bad boy! It's a beautiful 4 bedroom house, a decent sized room with the loo right next door and two bedrooms downstairs who tend to use the bathroom. The other people living here are more my age and the landlords have a holiday home down the coast that they're trying to get me to already, so I agreed to take the room on the spot. (And I might head to that holiday home!) That night, I don't think I even made it to 8:30 before falling asleep, it had been a busy day.

My only job for Monday was to move into my new place so I quickly ran into town before my check out to see if I could open a bank account, apparently they're very busy and I couldn't get an appointment for a few days, so I thought I'd wait and do it at the branch near my new place. I did get a SIM card which means I have data, I didn't need a bank account or an address which is annoying as I would have got it on day one, I dread to think what my phone bill will be like after texting a lot of people about viewings etc from my UK number. I also got stung in a parking place as the machine didn't take cash and wouldn't accept my cards, by the time I found another machine it was charging me over the hour so I paid $12 for 45 minutes of parking. Needless to say my true Brit came out and I did a bit of shouting at the machine and may have called the car park a cunt. Check out with simple and I stopped at the supermarket on the way to my new place to grab some lunch stuff, and made my appointment with the bank for Thursday, who knew banks was so busy!? After unpacking most of my stuff I headed back to the shopping mall and into warehouse which is a wonderful shop, you can buy pretty much anything and most things in bulk. I bought a set of shelves where I could store my makeup and random bits and bobs and also a mirror so I have somewhere to do my makeup that isn't the little toilet. I then did a big food shop channeling my sister in planning breakfast lunch and dinner for the week, however I did have to count every cent as I went around as the money I had in my purse is all I have until I get my deposit back. My old landlord has at least been in touch and taken my bank details so hopefully it's on it's way, but I did give them to her on Friday and nothing has appeared yet; this is the only annoying thing about the time difference, for me it's end of day Tuesday where as she hasn't woken up yet so won't answer my text for a while.

I slept very well in my nice comfy bed and was trying to think what to do with my day when I looked out the window and saw it was raining, how bloody rude. After breakfast and lounging for a bit it cleared up so I jumped in my car and drove up the coast to go for a walk, I went to Parry Kauri Park and went for quite a muggy jaunt amongst the trees, the sounds and smells were beautiful. The rain had made the forest smell lovely and every so often patches of sunlight came streaming through the super tall trees, it did however mean I was absolutely baking by the time I finished my half hour walk, on my way back down I stopped in on the coast and sat in the shade looking at the waves enjoying the breeze. I also took a quick detour to Takapuna Beach which is my closest one to see what it looked like, the waves were immense and there were loads of people windsurfing, however it was still lovely and warm. I don't have anything planned for this evening and don't have a firm time frame on when I will start work so I may start planning a little excursion for the end of the week, even if it's only with my landlords to their other property.

[gendermesenpai-blog]

8:50 pm

Okay, Firefox just fucking crashed and I lost like 3000 words that I just wrote. Fuck I am angry now. I was already having a shitty day and I am angry now.

I am going to angrily try to write what I remember from the post I was working on just now. Holy fuck this is frustrating and it makes me want to just go to bed and not even post anything. This shit is too much effort fuck

OK.

First of all, my medication costs almost nothing now. My prescription doubled this month and I am paying $2. Turns out there is actually pretty decent public healthcare here in this state.

This morning started normal enough, it was my first day on the new doseages and I am using an app now called Medisafe to track my schedule. This is because I was already missing doses before and now I have 3 a day. I went to work and they told us we were going to be doing more zipcodes. These are jobs we have been doing recently involving photographing properties where the owner owes money to the city. Our clients are interested in purchasing this debt. I don’t like it. It’s unethical, it makes me feel unsafe. I am a trans woman, I should not be running around in random neighborhoods putting a target on my back doing these zipcode jobs. And yet I am the one who has to map everything because no one else in the company knows how to use the internet and shit. I have done hundreds of these houses, they keep telling me to do it because I’m good at it. It feels like being punished. Oh, good job with these pictures, here’s a bunch more. I am getting into altercations with people, with drivers. I got chased off one block by a car today. I only got away because I can bunny hop speed bumps, he would have destroyed his car trying to follow me at that speed.

Anyway, I don’t like it. I had to change a flat out there today. I went to a church and changed it on the steps. I felt like that was the best I could do for my safety. I explained how I felt about this better in the post that Firefox crashed and destroyed. But anyway it sucks. At least there was another courier from my company doing a nearby section of houses and we rode out there together, met back up and smoked etc. Rode back together. I like him, he’s cool. Maybe I have a little crush or whatever. Nothing can be done. He’s not queer at all and I’ll probably never pass to any of these people because they know me too well in the male persona. Maybe I’ll look back at that and laugh one day when I have less beard shadow.

Anyway, rode back, they had pizza for us. I ate a lot. I could’ve eaten more. Haven’t been eating much lately because of money problems. I’ve gotten called in my last 2 off days. The last 2 Tuesdays. So no Uber except when I can sneak in a run or two, or after my regular shift when I’m already beat, or on weekends. Uber sucks anyway, I keep handing people bags of spilled shit. There is nothing special or weird about my bag. I have to imagine this is just what happens to every courier who uses a backpack to transport food. Things spill occasionally. Sometimes it’s like every fucking day though. I had to clean so much Tika Masala sauce out of my bag the other day. I’m about to just start carrying all food bags in my hand. I can control my speed with one hand on the bars now, either bar, no braking whatsoever except my legs. I can control my speed to a limited extent with no hands. Just noticed that one recently, it was something I suddenly learned, having gained awareness of by doing it.

OK but anyway, so I’m already pissed off from the zipcode shit, and they send me out to a drop near my house, so I hit my house, smoke, then cut down to the coffee place to take some coffee to go downtown. A week ago or a couple weeks ago or something, one of our drivers got into an altercation with a woman who works at this coffee place and happens to be a trans person of color. Apparently, something he said set her off and she shut down the shop, saying something about “fuck white people.” I think this is awesome. Everyone at my company thinks it is ridiculous and keep talking about her in a demeaning way. So I have already heard this story multiple times, and every time it’s told, even by our female dispatcher, it is always “trans woman.” They say it every single time, never just woman, never woman of color. Always “this trans woman at the coffee place.” But anyway, I hadn’t heard the driver himself talking about until today, and he managed to piss me off so quick, holy shit. He was basically asking who did the coffee run today, does *SHE* still work there, and he said she super sarcastically or like in an intentionally derogatory or insincere way. Of course, I did the coffee run, but I have no interest in talking about the fact that I saw the woman there, waved, and she didn’t acknowledge me, because that would just support their narrative about this crazy *trans* woman who hates white people and has it out for our tiny random delivery company. Also, right before he walked in and started talking about this, we had been trying to smoke a blunt outside and our two main office people, the guy who started the company and his weird pseudo girlfriend who lives above the office and is basically our main dispatcher, the two of them, started yelling about how we can’t smoke weed because the people across the street said something blah blah I don’t know, it’s fucking infantile, so I walked away to smoke around the corner and she followed us to like, scold us and say no we can’t smoke there either, only in the back yard or blah blah and I’m going like, wow, really, you’re my fucking mom and you’re going to tell me what to do now? We were going behind our work van, no one could’ve seen us. I should’ve told her to fuck off, she was being paranoid and we weren’t doing anything wrong. But anyway, so I was on edge from that and already thinking about leaving, and this guy starts talking about this trans woman this and trans woman that and emphaszing *SHE* and *HER* everytime he said it, and then I hear him go “yeah shes a tranny” and I’m just like oh wow ok. This is the reality of my life. I work at a company where people get to use slurs against me in my own office, and I can’t say anything because no one knows I am trans. So i nudged the only guy there who knows, and I was like, do you hear this? And he hadn’t been paying attention. And then I left. It was starting to rain so I just went to 7/11 and bought a burrito and took 5 bucks cash back out to pay my roommate for bud. And I’ve just been here since then, kind of hating myself and my life. Even though I live in this great rowhome, my medication costs $2 a month, I get high all the time and ride bikes for money, yadad ada.

Also, and this is almost certainly related, my self esteem is directly inversly proportional to the visibility of my beard shadow. No shadow, high esteem. Big shadow, low esteem. And I haven’t shaved in like 2 days or something. I just didn’t have time this morning. I hate it I hate it I hate it why can’t I burn it all off I hate it fucking dysphoria fucking fucking fucking shit

I get paid tomorrow. I am expecting maybe $700. I will have to pay one of my drug dealers $70, another $110. Then I have to pay at least $150 on my Paypal Credit. I owed them $400 in March and now it’s up to like $550 from fees. So $150 to put it back where it was. Then I need a new Boombotix because the charging port fell into the casing of my last one. Considering just jumping into the minirigs but $115 is a lot for a speaker during a month like this when the Boombotix is only $20. Then I need to buy razors, new shorts, maybe new Sidis if I can find them for less than $100. Some new furniture for my room, a dresser at least. And a chair. Time Atac pedals so I can stop popping out during skids. A fresh gatorskin since mine is very badly worn out. From skidding.

On the upside, I am getting really good at skids now. Probably doesn’t justify $60/mo on tires, but yeah.My desktop and laptop are both pretty fucked up right now, might need to look into some possibilities there.

I’m straight up alternating eating peanut butter and drinking water right now. Now I’m laying down. I have to stay up until like 11pm to take my 3rd dose. 8am, 3:30pm, 11pm. It’s 9:30 now.I still haven’t watched the show footage. I feel very cringy about that. It is over and done with, I should just watch the footage and laugh and move on. But I haven’t watched any of it. The dude still hasn’t sent me everything he has, but I haven’t even watched the 2 videos he did send.

I feel disgusting

dysphoria fuck u

laser hair removal is far too expensive

shaving is too tedious

waxing seems terrifying in a way I can’t rationally explain

how do I just

ugh

thank u for reading my poem

[jamalgreene325-blog]

“We are going to handle this ourselves, Prince don’t need to know yet about this. These muthafuckas must think we are pussies.”  

Little Man drove along Central Park West. It was starting to get dark, but they had to keep looking for them. They stopped by the train station on 103rd Street. Little Man jumped out the ride and asked Junior if he’d seen Bullet. Larry was standing next to Junior and said he saw them on Manhattan Avenue. Little Man jumped back into the ride and sped off after them.  

“There they go!” Malik yelled. Little Man hit the corner and jumped out.  

“Watch the car, Malik!”  

They crouched down. Bullet looked back and yelled,

“Run!”  

Raheem busted off a shot at them. Little Man ran in the street, throwing hot rocks at Bullet. Little Cee ran toward the stoop of a building, tripping as he hit the stairs hard. Fear showed on his face before he fell. Raheem was on him instantly while he laid flat on his stomach. He felt sickly. His stomach turned. He fumbled with his gun as he tried to turn over to aim at the person behind him. Raheem let him have two to the head, blowing his brains on to the stoop and garbage cans. Blood flowed like water, and Raheem checked him for the work as onlookers stood by in a state of shock. Bullet turned his head around. Seeing his man laying down, he reached back and fired off a shot at Raheem. He missed and only hit the cars in the street and the garbage cans on the sidewalk. Shocked onlookers ducked behind cars and garbage cans for protection.

Little Man fired off a burst of rounds at Bullet as he tried to run across Eighth Avenue to get inside the park, so he could disappear. Inside the park, bystanders ducked and fell to the ground, trying not to get shot. Little Man was sweating from beneath the ski mask he had on his face. Bullet had made it to the bench, attempting to jump over the wall like a track star. Little Man burst off his TEC-9, hitting Bullet in the back and legs. Bullet buckled from the hits that burned like fire when entering his body.  

Little Man ran up to him, yelling, “Muthafucka, you crazy!” He forcibly turned him over and kicked his gun away.  

“What, muthafucka! What, muthafucka?”  

Little Man snatched the bag of work and money out of his pockets while blood was gushing all over him. Raheem ran up, looking around for the sound of the police coming. Bullet was holding his leg in pain. Little Man put the TEC-9 to his  

chest and whispered, “Muthafucka!”  

Malik pulled up with the car. “Get in! Get in!”  

Raheem jumped into the backseat and took off his ski mask. Little Man jumped into the passenger side, and Malik took off heading uptown, disappearing into traffic. Little Man and Raheem were known young killers, and no one wanted to step up and say anything after the police arrived. Most of the people in the hood knew Bullet and Little Cee as thugs who robbed people in the community, neighborhood stores, and the white people they caught hanging out at night after hours. Bullet had a drug habit and so did Little Cee, so most of the onlookers did not care one way or the other.  One women in the crowd whispered, “Good for them! That muthafucka laying there robbed my store last week end and the police did nothing.”  

“Yeah, he robbed me, too, for my chain and watch,” the young man in the crowd complained. “My mom gave that to me, and they took it from me, and nobody would help me.  

That’s my chain wrapped around his neck.”  

Riding uptown, Raheem said, “Did you see that muthafucka’s face when I hit him?”  

“You muthafuckas are official!” Malik yelled, pointing his finger.  

“Calm down,” Little Man said. “We should not have been hit for anything anyway. We are slipping, homies. Slow down, Malik, and move over. We don’t want the po-po to stop us. We don’t want to be hot.”  

Little Man got into the driver’s seat and drove to 125th Street and Eighth Avenue. “Raheem and Malik, you two take a cab home.” Then, he told Raheem, “Ditch your clothes. Get rid of them. Break that TEC down and get rid of it, too. We will pick up another one tomorrow from the team. I am going over to the crib. I will holla at you later. Malik, go pick up the rest of the cash and work. Keep it at the crib. Supreme will be expecting it, and if he heard about the drama, tell him it’s already been handled. Peace.”  

Then, he gave each one dap and got ready to see Karen. First, he took a set of clothes out the trunk of the car, wiped himself off, and then gave a bum on the corner the set of old clothes.  

Little Man knew he had to take care of Bullet and Little Cee because, if the word got out that they could be had, other stick-up crews would try them sooner or later. But worse, Prince would find out that his crew had gotten stuck up, so he had to show his crew that he could protect them. Little Man had a black void inside of him, which he tried to fill. He had a sense of not belonging after his father died. Jamal and Prince gave him a sense of belonging to something. Good or bad, he belonged. He heard and saw the violence Jamal and Prince encountered. He knew of their reputations on the streets. As far back as he could remember, Jamal and Prince told him stories about the old Dons of Harlem — Nicky Bonds, Frank Matthew, Frank Lucas, Mellow, the Country Boys, and the Kings, Bumpy Johnson, Big Moe, and Half Moon Ricky from Harlem. The old hit men who worked for Murder Incorporated. They taught him about the hey days of Harlem. How the Black Sunday Commission got started. They told him about fallen soldiers, Smokey, Sol,  Harlem���s up and coming finest Rich Porter, and L.A. and Little Spanky. How respect and loyalty was honor. They told him about the rites of passages. They told him about prison. Rikers Island, H.D.M. was the training camp before going up north! They took him around the famous sites of gunfights up in Harlem where the hustlers did their things and old hang out spots. They taught him well in the art of crime but not about living life.  

But now he was learning about life. He knew about death but now he was learning about the art of love from a woman.

Something Jamal and Prince couldn’t teach him. They protected their families by not falling in love. Their love was for the streets. Creatures of the night spilling blood on their rise in crime. These stories made Little Man, Raheem, and other impressionable kids long for the street life, the glamour, and the bling. But they also schooled him to the dark side.

Growing up in the hood, street hustlers talked about becoming a member of the notorious Black Sunday Mob. When young impressionable kids walked out their front doors, the first thing they saw was the hustlers with lots of money buying cars and hanging out with the fly girls of the block. The big butt, big tits women all vying for attention from the crews up on 143rd street. There were other crews on the block competing for the prize and customers getting their weight up to be bosses, but Black Sunday was the larger organization and the deadliest. As a youth, Jamal was first seduced by the street. Then his friendship for the younger Prince developed like the way Mr. Big put Jamal under his wing and taught him. Jamal taught Prince the game. Now another generation had come along and the circle continued.

Pimps, hos, stick-up men, con men, hustlers, and drug dealers. Those were the images that they saw and look up to as guides. They walked the dark side of life, committed to their trades. Little Man liked the stories about the real thugs and gangsters, but his mind now was on Karen, the woman who lit a flame to his heart.  

Little Man arrived at Karen’s house and several residents stood in front of the Lenox Terrance complex entrance. They looked on as Little Man pulled up into the driveway. Several people across the street were selling their wares like a miniflea market. Near the train station two police officers stood watching the people go into the train station as the number seven bus pulled up to collect passengers. People were coming and going from the train station, heading home from work. Professional men and women carrying brief cases and newspapers. Little Man paused for a second and smiled. One of the young people standing around the entrance, a young lady, whispered into her friend’s ear,

“That’s Karen’s friend.”  

“Damn! He is fine. Where’d she find him?”  

“I heard he’s from downtown. I wonder what he does for a living. He looks young.”  

“Young enough for me to fuck his brains out!”  

They both laughed at the thought of them having sex with Little Man.  

Little Man entered the building with the flowers he’d just bought. Little Man had a key now, so he didn’t need any introduction to come inside. As he entered the elevator for the ride upstairs, several tenants moved to the side to allow him to come in. The older ladies smiled, thinking about the days when their husbands or lovers brought them flowers. One of the older women winked at Little Man with approval as he stepped off the elevator. He turned and smiled at them, then proceeded down the hall to Karen’s apartment. Before he could ring the doorbell, she said, “Come in,” and he was surprised.  

He said, “How did you know?”  

“I watched you on the security system as you entered.” The sound of Jagged Edge played on the CD player, setting